


odds and ends

by Azile_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:52:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1784701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azile_Teacup/pseuds/Azile_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bits and pieces that aren't finished and aren't quite stories yet. Dunno the value of this, but I thought I'd share. </p><p>This chapter; Hunith runs a safe house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hunith House

**Author's Note:**

> various characters and pairings, primarily merthur. This is Ygraine and Hunith and baby Merlin and Arthur, no romantic pairings (Hunith/Balinor and Ygraine/Uther in the background). Check chapter warnings, I'll put any in a note like this one. 
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter: abuse talked about in some detail.

Hunith wakes to someone banging on the door. It’s not unusual, not here, so she doesn’t hesitate- she pulls on  
her dressing gown and is half way down the stairs before she knows what’s what. She undoes the locks and opens the door, revealing a woman with lank, blond hair, two burly police officers and one very small baby. The woman is wearing a thin night dress and there’s blood. 

“Shit. Come in, come on, in you come. Is this yours?” Hunith asks, and looks at the woman, but gets no response so she looks at the coppers, “what’s she doing here? Did she just _have_ that baby?”

“Yes, Ma’am. She won’t go to hospital and we don’t really have anywhere… uh, her husband ‘ad ‘er tied up, an’ he had the baby when we arrived, and…”

“He was going to take him, but I didn’t let him,” the woman says, hunching over the baby, “I didn’t let him, did I baby? He’s not having you.”

“Alright, come on through,” Hunith says, leading the way to the livingroom. 

“Mar’in sayed you were a nurse, Ma’am,” burly policeman number one says, ushering the tottering woman through. 

“I’m a doctor, not a nurse. And I’m neither now, I run this place. Alright, love, take a seat on the couch and let’s have a look at you.”

“Uh, we need to talk to her,” says burly number two.  
Hunith settles the woman on the sofa, then turns on the coppers. 

“Out! She has been abused and threatened, and now you want to do more? Out of my house, out! I will bring her to you, but when she is better. Now get out,” She says, advancing.

The police get out. She follows them, shutting and locking the door behind them, and Merlin starts whimpering in the baby monitor that she has on the end of the banister for just this kind of occasion. He’s alright for the moment, though. The woman is sat where she was put, hair hanging down, singing to her baby. Hunith hears Merlin start to cry, and the woman’s head comes up, eyes big. 

“He’s crying,” she says, amazed. 

“Mm. My son. He usually cries himself out, he just woke up, he’s alright. What’s this little one called?” Hunith asks, crouching by the sofa, keeping an ear on Merlin for actual distress. 

“Arthur, my little Arthur. Isn’t he beautiful? Aren’t you beautiful, aren’t you just?” 

“He is. And what about you? What’s your name?”

“Ygraine. I’m your Mummy, little boy. I’m your Mummy. I won’t be letting that man anywhere close to you, my precious,” she says, and looks up, fiercely, eyes burning. 

“Alright my lovely, we won’t let him near. You’re safe here, you are definitely safe. Can I have a look at him? I’m a nurse, I’ll just check him over.”

“Can I keep hold?”

“Yeah, lay him on your lap, that’s it. Good girl, that’s it. Okay.”

Hunith feels over the boy’s limbs, checks his skull, his breathing. 

“He’s a lovely colour, isn’t he? He looks fine, Ygraine. A healthy little boy. He’s breathing okay, he’s not got anything broken. It all looks very good. Now, I need you to lie down, that’s it. You keep him on your chest and I’m going to have a look at you now.”

“At my vagina? I think there’s some tearing. Uther wasn’t very careful when Arthur was coming, and I think he came out too fast. It felt horrible and then Uther had him, and I… but then, they came. I called them, and they came. And we’re safe here, my Arthur.”

Ygraine starts singing again, soft, lulling. Hunith sits back up with a sigh. 

“You need some stiches, love. You’re a bit fucked down here, frankly. I’m doing to get a kit, and I’m going to get you something to put on, and I’m going to get a blanket for you. Have you tried feeding Arthur?”

“Yes. He won’t, though. He doesn’t like it.”

Hunith grabs two cushions from the armchair and props Ygraine up, supporting Arthur in the crook of Ygraine’s arm. She asks permission then takes the thin strap of the nighty off, revealing on breast. She goes through with Ygraine and after trying both breasts, Arthur latches on and starts suckling. 

“Oh, look! He’s drinking, aren’t you my love? Oh my,” Ygraine says, voice tearful. 

“I’m going to leave you here, but I’ll close the door and no one will disturb you. Just feed him and rest, alright?” 

Ygraine’s enrapt by her son, so Hunith leaves her to it, collecting the first aid kit and a blanket from downstairs before hurrying up to the landing closet and getting a pair of pyjamas for Ygraine. Merlin’s still crying, so she gathers him as well and carries everything back down. 

“He’s sleeping,” Ygraine says when she comes in, “oh, another one! Is this one yours?”

“Yes, this is Merlin,” Hunith says, dumping everything on the coffee table and swaying, Merlin on her shoulder. 

Merlin, content now that he’s got her attention and is out of his bed, gargles happily and drools on her. She sighs and puts him on the arm chair, with a cushion to stop him rolling off. He immediately starts crying again. 

“Shush, you little gentleman. Mamma has work to do,” Hunith tells him, leaving him. 

“He can come lie with Arthur, if you like,” Ygraine offers. 

Hunith hesitates, but all her women have held Merlin, looked after him, at one point or another. She scoops him up and lays him on Ygraine’s chest, and he gums happily, reaching out to poke at Arthur. Ygraine laughs and strokes Merlin’s face, and starts singing again. Hunith gets down between Ygraines legs and spreads them gently, cleaning away the blood and stitching the skin together. She’s pretty sure Ygraine is not going to be the same down here again. She’s torn almost all the way through. 

“Are you in pain, Ygraine?”

“No, I’m too happy.”

“You sing beautifully.”

“Mmhmm. It’s my job.”

“Okay.”

Hunith does use a numbing agent, procured through nefarious means, to the tissue around the tears. It takes an hour to stitch everything up, by which point Ygraine is exhausted. Hunith helps her change into the soft pyjamas and settles her on the sofa bed. She offers a crib for Arthur, but Ygraine doesn’t want to let go. Hunith leaves her singing, laughing at Arthur. She closes the door and puts up the sign that lets the other women know not to go in, and then goes back up to bed with Merlin. 

 

***

 

“Oh!” Hunith says, starting in surprise. 

Ygraine turns, Arthur on her shoulder, and smiles. She’s been here three weeks now, mostly bed-ridden (on Hunith’s orders), but Hunith wasn’t expecting her to be in the kitchen with the kettle on at half past six in the morning. Merlin’s even still sleeping. 

“I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Ygraine says, “Arthur was restless.”

“It’s alright, I try to encourage people to treat this as home. Why don’t you sit, and I’ll make you some tea? We have a lot of different kinds, one of the ladies has a thing for herbals.”

“Oh, that’s alright. I can manage.”

Hunith knows better than to push. Maybe Ygraine wants the control, or the independence. Either way, Hunith leaves her to it and puts on the frying pan to start the bacon. 

“Sarah has an interview today, in Coventry,” Hunith says, “so I’m making her a good breakfast. If she gets it, she’ll be leaving us.”

“How long do people stay here?” Ygraine asks. 

“However long they need to. Sarah’s only been here a month or so, about a week longer than you. Some people stay for years.”

“I don’t know where I’d go. Uther is very powerful, he’d find me.”

Hunith hums quietly in agreement , but doesn’t comment. From the singing, the names and a few bits of conversation she’s pretty sure that this is Ygraine Pendragon, wife to Uther Pendragon, and if that’s the case, she’s not entirely certain that Ygraine is safe even here. Uther is so powerful, has so much money and probably knows half the police force and half the legal representatives in the UK. Hunith will do her best, though. She puts bread into the toaster.

“You can stay as long as you need to, Ygraine.”

“I think I’ll go by Isabelle, it’s my second name. Maybe it’s safer.”

“If you want. Isabelle. Does he know Arthur’s name?”

“No. He called Arthur nothing. He wanted an heir, but not a child. And not me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why do you run this place?”

“My partner, Merlin’s father, was a wonderful, strong, beautiful man. He was loving and caring, and so very gentle. He had been in the army, though, and he had these rages. He had PTSD and several other mental health problems, so it was never his fault. In the end, though, I had to leave him. We still… well, there’s Merlin as evidence…. But… I started this place as a safe heaven, for women who’s partners didn’t understand why they needed it. Merlin still sees his father, and Balinor is wonderful with him.”

Hunith has told the story before, and she’s able to tell it without emotion. It’s just a story, part of the history of this place. It helps the women, to know that she understands where they’re coming from. It helps make them feel safe, which is what this project is for. 

“How do you fund it?” Ygraine asks. 

“I don’t know. We get by, somehow. I do some shifts at the hospital, when things get tough. We do fundraising and we have patrons. I know very little about running a business, but we manage.”

“I know a lot about running a business. Perhaps I can help? I did an accountancy course, so I can at least look over your finances, if you feel comfortable with that. I don’t want to push.”

“You’re not,” Hunith says, sliding the bacon onto the toast, “but I am going to say no thank you, not until you’re better. I want you resting, and you can focus on Arthur and enjoying his first months.”

“Alright. I understand.”

“When you’re better, if you’re still here, I will welcome any help you can offer.”

Ygraine smiles, and Sarah walks in. The conversation turns to Sarah and Ygraine slips away. Hunith can hear her singing to Arthur. 

***

Ygraine laughs at the photo of Merlin and Balinor sleeping, both with identical gormless expressions, and turns the page. Hunith smiles, glad that someone is enjoying the photos. She has Arthur in her arms, Merlin is rolling around on the floor, laughing. Ygraine’s on the sofa, feet tucked up under her. Arthur starts crying again and Hunith bounces him. 

“Oh, look at him here, Hunith. He was such a lovely baby!” Ygraine says, turning to a photo of Merlin with his legs in the air, smiling at the camera. 

“He was. He is. So is Arthur, Isabelle. You know, if we take pictures of him, they’d just be for you. It’s not like Uther would recognise him, even if he did somehow get hold of them.”

“Are you sure? I’d recognise him anywhere. Why is he crying?”

“Don’t worry, he’s just cross about being woken, I reckon.”

“Okay.”

Ygraine goes back to the album. Hunith bends to put Arthur on the sheepskin with Merlin, and laughs as Merlin turns immediately to him, poking him with an unco0ordinated hand. Arthur starts bawling again, but Merlin just laughs, hand smacking against Arthur’s cloth covered stomach. Arthur’s eyes widen in surprise and he goes quiet. 

“They’re so lovely,” Ygraine says, hushed. 

“Shall we take a picture?”

“…yes.”

Hunith goes to get the camera.


	2. Hunith House part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of chapter one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: abuse (Hunith runs a safe house, so)

Hunith was woken up by the doorbell and she tugged on her robe and was downstairs before it had time to ring a second time. She opened the door as far as the chain went, and then quickly pushed it closed so she could open it all the way. 

“Bal, what are you doing here?” she asks, “It’s gone two am!”

“I just wanted to see you,” he says. 

“You know you can’t come in, I don’t let men come in unless they have a police uniform on. It’s a rule. It disturbs my ladies.”

“I know. I just… I wanted to just see you, Hun.”

She sighs and tugs him into the foyer, into a hug. It’s not the first time this has happened and she’s pretty sure it won’t be the last. 

“Bad night, hmm?” She says, rubbing his shoulder, “okay. Sit out on the step and I’ll grab some supplies and join you.”

He nods and sits, bulky shoulders looking small in the dim light, somehow. Hunith leaves him long enough to get a thermos of tea, a blanket and the baby monitor and then joins him. He offers her a cigarette and she takes a drag for old times sake, though it’s a long time since she had the habit.

“Thanks, Hun. I know this isn’t good for you,” Balinor says, sounding tired, “I just needed to see you for a bit.”

“I’ve told you before that it’s okay. It’s like old time, hmm? When you were on leave and we’d sit on the steps, and point out the stars we’d both be able to see.”

“Yeah. Only I’m completely fucked up, now.”

“Oh, my love,” she says, pulling him to her, “you’re still wonderful.”

He laughs and sighs, both rumbling through him, and presses himself closer to her. He picks up the baby monitor and turns it up until they can hear Merlin shifting, smacking his lips, breathing.

“I wish…” Balinor starts, then stops.

“I do, too. I wish,” Hunith agrees.

“Hunith?” a voice says from behind them.

They both turn, Balinor stiffening and pulling away. It’s Ygraine, Arthur in her arms, peering at them. She smiles when she has their attention. 

“Are you alright?” Hunith asks.

“Oh, yes, we’re fine. Arthur’s just hungry, aren’t you my love?” Ygraine says, distracted for a moment by her son, “I heard voiced. I wanted to check you were alright, actually.”

“I’m fine,” Hunith says, softly, “This is Balinor.”

“Oh! Good, that’s good. That’s all alright, then, I’ll leave you to it.”

Ygraine goes back inside, letting the door close almost all the way. Hunith listens to her singing for a while.

“Was that-“ Balinor starts, but Hunith shushes him. 

“That was Isabella.”

“Ah, I see. Tell me about Merlin.”

Hunith does, talking until Balinor relaxes. When he leaves he kisses her deeply, apologizes again and walks away whistling. Hunith watches him out of sight then takes her things back into the kitchen. Ygraine’s still sat up, Arthur feeding from one breast, watching for Hunith. She smiles when Hunith comes in and nudges a chair out with her foot, so Hunith sits.

“He seemed nice,” Ygraine says.

“He is. He’s wonderful. He just… has a few problems.”

“Mm. I used to think Uther was like him. My prince, my knight in shining armour, he was so chivalrous, he spoilt me. I never thought that the darkness was the truth while the light was the lie.”

“Balinor is the opposite. For a long time I thought the darkness was all there was in him, especially after he came out of the army. But I think that really the light is him, the darkness is just… a cloak, things that happened, memories.”

“He’s lucky to have you,” Ygraine says, then smiles again, “I feel up to doing some accounts tomorrow, if you’d like?”

Hunith considers it, but then agrees with a nod.

**

Hunith wakes to the doorbell, but turns over to go back to sleep. It’s Izzy’s turn tonight. It was hard, at first, to break the habit, let go the control, but after Izzy had been here for three years Hunith sat down and they made a deal to take it in turns. Hunith’s just about to drift off when she feels a small, hot body climb into bed with her. 

“Honey?”

“Hello, Arthur,” Hunith says, sleepy, “did you have a dream?”

“Uh-uh. Where’s Mummy?”

“Downstairs. We have a new lady, I imagine.”

“Kay.”

Arthur snuggles in close to her, tucking his small hand against her side, and falls back asleep. He reminds Hunith that they need to plan for Merlin’s fifth birthday, and that they need to take Arthur to the doctor to have him checked for asthma after the way he wheezes all last week when it was so cold. It seems sleep has fled. She sighs and rolls onto her back and the door creaks open again. This time it’s Izzy.

“Are you awake?” she asks, sitting on the side of the bed.

“Yes,” Hunith says, “your child woke me properly after the bell disturbed him. We’re going to have to see about soundproofing the nursery, it always wakes Arthur.”

“Mm, but not now. She needs some of your expert doctoring, I think. She’s been to the hospital but wouldn’t let them look at her… her… downstairs.”

“Her vagina? Honestly, Iz, don’t be such a prude,” Hunith says, getting out of bed. 

Arthur, of course, wakes again. Hunith sighs. She’s never seen a child sleep as lightly as Arthur does. She pads downstairs in her dressing gown and pushes open the livingroom door. There’s a young woman sat, knees pressed together in scrubs, face white. 

“Hello,” Hunith says, “I’m Hunith.”

“The other lady said you wanted to look at my bits,” the woman says, voice harsh, “but I don’t need you to look at my bits. They’re fine.”

“Alright, love, I don’t need to look at your bits,” Hunith soothes, “Izzy just wanted to check you had been properly looked after. Do you have anything with you?”

“No.”

“Would you like some pyjamas, a toothbrush?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll get those for you in a minute. Are you comfortable enough to move, to manage stairs? If you are, there’s a room you can use that has its own ensuit, but if not you can stay here and no one will disturb you.”

“I want the room.”

“Okay. Do you want to tell us a name, or not?”

“No.”

Hunith nods and leads her upstairs, shows her the room and the bathroom, explains about breakfast and the kitchen and then leaves her with a stack of towel, pyjamas, toothbrush and various other bits. Izzy calls them ‘welcome bundles’ and while Hunith laughed at the idea, she has to admit that it’s easier to have them than to search for bits people need. She leaves the woman to herself and sneaks into Izzy’s room. Izzy’s still up, but Arthur’s asleep in the bed, curled around Merlin. Huntih laughs quietly. Where one is, the other tends to follow. 

“Is she okay?” Izzy asked.

“She wouldn’t let me check. Wouldn’t even give me a name. I think for now we’ll just let her be.”

“Alright. I thought maybe some Huntih magic, but I guess not everyone is as susceptible as I am.”

“You’re ridiculous, Izzy,” Huntih says, laughing quietly again, “and we shouldn’t do this, it’ll wake Arthur.”

“Come on, then, you’re room. We’ll sleep like girls in a boarding school and giggle at each other’s farts.”

“Is that what girls do at boarding school?”

“For the most part.”

They sneak back to Hunith’s room, and giggle at one another’s farts. 

**

“No, no no no no!” 

Hunith sighs and plucks Merlin off the floor, sitting him on the washing machine while she folds clothes and makes breakfast. 

“Izzy!” she calls. 

“Mamma, Arthur’s horrible,” Merlin says. 

Arthur, lying flat on the floor, starts to scream. Hunith slides the bacon and eggs onto the big platter in the middle of the table, grabs the milk and then dumps the pan in the sink. 

“Izzy!”

Arthur carries on screaming, even when the ladies come in. They ignore him, used to it, but Merlin has the smug little smile on his face that Hunith knows means he’s hoping Arthur’s in trouble. Huntih finishes the laundry and scrapes Arthur off the tiles, dumping him on the washing machine next to Merlin. Merlin’s face turns stormy.

“Boys, sit quietly for five minutes. Both of you. Or I will put you on the naughty step.”

Merlin quiets and Arthur’s screams turn into hiccupping sobs. Hunith starts the dishes and dips into the conversation about work in London that’s going on at the table, then answers the phone and takes a message.

“Izzy!”

Merlin suddenly yells and shoves Arthur into the kitchen sink, making him start screaming again.

“Merlin! You’re six years old, not a toddler, you know better than to do that,” Hunith snaps, lifting Arthur out of the sink and letting him snuffle into her shoulder. 

“He started it!” Merlin yells.

Arthur starts yelling too, the dishes start to slide off the counter, one of the dogs Morgause brought with her this time scitters in making June yell and start going on about sneezing. Hunith stands in the chaos, and this is when Izzy decides to make an appearance. She glides in, smiling, and sorts everything with well chosen words, soft hands and (for Merlin) a cookie.

“Fuck you too,” Hunith says to her very quietly, when the chaos has died down, “I’ve been calling for ages. Your son has been screaming all morning!”

“Poor mite didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Izzy says, not offended in the slightest, more amused, “and I was talking to Dom. If we put in an offer on the new building he says he can talk a contractor down to half the price to fix up the office there.”

“Oh thank God. If we don’t get somewhere bigger, and with proper private quarters, I’m going to stick a steak knife into someone,” Hunith says, absent mindedly catching the half cookie Merlin throws for the dog.

Izzy laughs and wraps her in a sudden, unusual, impulsive hug. 

“What’s this for?” Hunith asks, but she returns it. 

“Look, Merlin, Mummy’s hugging Mamma,” Arthur whispers.

“Yeah,” Merlin says, “if we’re really, really quiet they might not notice.”

Hunith watches out of the corner of her eye, in case they have something dastardly planned, but all they do is throw pieces of bread to the dog and giggle so she lets them think they have her hoodwinked. 

“We’re really doing this,” Izzy says. 

“Doing what?” Hunith asks, still distracted by the boys. 

“This! The new place, my money, the proper office, all of it. Now that Uther’s at the bottom of a lake somewhere I can finally help you out properly.”

“Iz, you’ve been helping me out since you held Merlin for me, the first time we met.”

“Um… is… I mean, I know it’ll be weird, now, after so much time, but… I’d like to reclaim my name.”

“You want to go by Ygraine?”

“Oh dear lord, no. I don’t answer to it anymore! I meant DuBois. It’s my maiden name, I never dared used it when… but he’s gone, now.”

“Well, we’ll just have to sort that before we sign anything new.”

If Izzy’s crying, Hunith pretends not to notice.

**

“Where’s Merlin?” Izzy asks, the moment Arthur walks in alone.

Hunith frowns and takes off her rubber gloves, moving through to the hallway that leads from the safe house to their quarters. Arthur’s stood with his head hanging, shrugging, football boots muddy in his hand. 

“Dunno. He said he didn’t want to walk with me,” Arthur says, sounding upset.

“Why not? Did you two have another fight?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know, okay? He says that he’s nine and I’m only eight and he wants to walk with the cool people, not me.”

“You’re cool, you play football.”

Hunith tries not to laugh at Izzy’s genuine bemusement. Izzy never will believe that Arthur has problems at school, even when he comes home miserable. Maybe it’s not funny after all. Hunith steps into the hall and takes Arthur’s boots, putting them in the box for them. 

“Come on through to the kitchen, love,” she says, “when you’re a bit cleaner, and help me with these cookies. Our ladies are having a movie night tonight.”

Arthur nods and hurries to the bathroom, leaving Izzy looking after him, still baffled.

“I don’t understand,” Izzy says, “he’s bright, he’s sporty, he’s not ugly. He doesn’t have braces, he grew out of his asthma, there’s nothing for them to pick on about him.”

“He’s hyperactive,” Hunith says, “I think we should have him screened for ADHD. At least then the teachers will stop giving him such a hard time about being distracted.”

“He’s smart,” Izzy says again.

“Yes, I know, but he does get distracted. Case in point.”

Hunith leads Izzy to the bathroom and points to where Arthur’s got the booster stool out and is adding shower gel and toothpaste to a sink full of water and rubber ducks. 

“what are you doing?” Hunith asks him.

“Making a potion, for Merlin. It’s gonna turn him into a frog.”

“What are the rubber ducks?”

Arthur looks at them blankly for a moment.

“I was playing that they were having duck wars.”

“Ah,” Hunith says and turns back to Izzy.

“ah,” Izzy says, a little weakly.

“I’ll talk to his teacher on Monday, shall I?”

“Please. I should have noticed earlier. Why is it always you who notices?”

“You just see the best in people all the time, their strengths instead of their weaknesses. It’s a good thing, love.”

“Okay. Oh, Bal rang and says he’s going to bring spaghetti and then take the boys to see… I don’t know, something animated.”

Hunith nods, but Merlin tears in, two boys at his back, laughing wildly before she can say anything. 

 

“Did she follow us?” Merlin asks, grinning, gap toothed. 

“Nope,” Gwaine Green says, grinning right back. 

“Boys, shoes,” Izzy says, leaning down to kiss Merlin’s hair, “do you want a snack? I can make toast.”

“We’re going back out,” Lance says, “just as soon as Gwen’s stopped watching the house. Come on, Merlin, we can see from your room if she’s still there.”

Gwaine and Lance rush off, but Hunith clears her throat in such a way that Merlin pauses. 

“What?” he says.

“You upset Arthur,” Hunith says, sternly.

“Oh well,” Merlin says, “he’s a baby.”

Arthur comes out into the hallway, covered in soap suds, looking like he’s going to cry.

“I’m not a baby. I just wanted to play.”

“No, okay, maybe not a baby. A freak!” Merlin yells, “you look stupid! What are you doing? Why are you so weird?”

Merlin crashes off into his room and Arthur’s lips wobbles, then stiffens. He vanishes back into the bathroom.

“Why do they fight so much?” Hunith says, with a sigh.

“They’re brothers,” Izzy says, reverently, smiling.

“Really? This is what it’s like to have siblings? I thought you liked Tristan.”

“I do. And Agravain. Even if Ag was a total bastard about Uther. But we bickered like you wouldn’t believe. We’ll have to have a chat with Merlin about bullying, but I think the fights are healthy enough.”

Hunith sighs, but she doesn’t have time to do the whole co-parenting thing right now, she has to do baking. She’s supposed to be at work. She ducks back into the main house and washes her hands. Morgause, back yet again, is sat at the table eating the raw cookie dough.

“Your boys fighting?” she asks. 

“Yes,” Hunith says, “did Cenred kick you out again?”

“I may have walloped him. He hit his head, somehow. I’m not going back this time.”

“I hope not. I always hope not. Why don’t you try staying here a bit longer?”

“Yes. I will. Do you remember the first night I came here? I didn’t let you near my bits?”

“Yes,” Hunith says, “I remember all my lady’s first nights.”

“Even Izzy’s?”

“Even Izzy’s," she says, “do you want to make cookies with me and Arthur? He’s not feeling very happy at the moment, either.”

Arthur comes in at that moment, looking cleaner than usual. He climbs up onto a chair beside Morgause and steals some dough to eat.

“Hello Goose,” he says, somehow fond of the cold, hard woman.

“Hello, Egg,” Morgause says. 

“Both of you stop eating my dough. Why don’t you roll it out and choose some shapes?”

An hour later they’ve finally baked all the cookies and Morgause and Arthur are both looking happier, if a bit sick from eating so much raw cookie dough and finished products. They’re discussing Dottie, the dog Morgause brought this time, in great detail, going into breed and hair type or something. Hunith slides the last of the cookies onto the cooling rack and collapses into a chair, tired out. 

Merlin comes in, drawn by the small, and sits next to Arthur. Hunith watches them, watches Merlin try to inch closer, watches Arthur brush him away. She’s about to step in when Izzy emerges too, and stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. Merlin nudges Arthur with his elbow and Arthur nudges back, then Merlin sighs and goes out again. He comes back with a Satsuma, which he hands to Arthur. 

“Sorry I was mean,” Merlin says, quietly.

“Okay,” Arthur says, peeling his orange and sliding a cookie over to Merlin in exchange, and that seems to be that.

“Wow,” Hunith says, and Izzy laughs, “how’d you know that would work?”

“Merlin’s a clever enough boy to know that Arthur is an asset to him. Besides, he’s kind and doesn’t like hurting Arthur, he just got carried away.”

“If you say so.”

“So, boys,” Morgause says, a glint in her eyes, “do you think you can get the ball past me?”

She magics a football from somewhere and they head out into the garden, Dottie barking madly and running around their ankles. Hunith puts the kettle on and starts getting tea ready. 

“We need to get a cook,” she decides, “I’m tired of cooking meals every day and Arthur and Merlin need to have dinner separate from the ladies sometimes, which means extra meals.”

“You mean when Nim is here,” Izzy says.

“I do.”

“Alright, I’ll see about putting an add out. We have Louise to do the housekeeping on Thursdays and Tom to do the garden on Fridays, but their pay is minimal. I reckon we can afford to get someone in three days a week if we keep getting the funding we currently have.”

“Which you will procure?”

“I will. And you will do the interviews and find someone, when I put the add out?”

“I will.”

“And talk to Arthur’s teacher on Monday.”

“I will.”

They sit with their tea for a while, exnjoying the respite from running a business. Hunith’s not sure how she got from having a few ladies staying in her house for safety to owning a proper business, with an official charity number, proper finances, and actual business expenses, but she’s pretty sure Izzy has something to do with it.


	3. UK College AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is being bullied. What is he supposed to make of it when sporty, popular Arthur takes down a nasty poster of him, then continues to insinuate himself into Merlin's life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: bullying
> 
> The school they go to is based on my own sixth form college, but theirs is part of a school that encompasses secondary education and A-levels.

“Okay, that’s… one point of view, I guess. Thank you, Percival. Now can anyone think of any other connotations for this word? Merlin?”

Merlin’s heart sinks. Why does she always call on him? He looks down at his homework and finds number nine. Maybe if he just reads it out, he won’t get too much attention.

“Uh, maybe weddings? You know, the bells ringing out. By the same… whatever, funerals. Bells… um, Christmas, but that’s because… you know, more modern than the poem so… Bells are sort of emotive, they’re symbols of great happenings, like a call to arms, a call to unite. I think the poet is using them here to highlight the loneliness of the speaker, you know? Because there’s no one to come when the bell calls, no one’s gonna answer.”

“Very good, Merlin. Good answer. Okay, so we have weddings, funerals, you said a call to arms, a call to muster- yes, Arthur?”

“My father has a bell to call the servants. So, like, it could be that, too, right? The speaker asserting dominance. They’re alone, but they’re ringing the bell because they’ve got themselves as superior, so maybe they’ve created their own loneliness.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, looking up, “Because there’s that bit about… a throne or something… line six? And there’s the part where the speaker talks about a kingdom. So it could be a sort of symbolism, that the speaker has set themselves up as this king of all he surveys, and is realising that a king’s like the top of a triangle, all alone.”

“Very good. Arthur, anything to add?”

“No. I was just saying that we had a bell at home, I dunno about all the rest of it.”

Merlin wants to yell ‘but you said it! You’re the one who talked about self-imposed loneliness, it wasn’t me’, but he knows it will do no good- Arthur Pendragon has spoken, this will be remembered by everyone as Arthur saying something funny and Merlin going all serious and deep. He ducks his head again.

When Miss Sulivan calls the end of class he shoves everything in his bag and gets out first, almost running towards the pav, but it’s no good. They catch him up anyway.

“Oi! Girly Merly! Wait for us,” comes the voice.

Merlin stops, because he knows not stopping will be worse. He waits, hanging on to his bag. They catch up. Val, Myror, Tindr, the jocks, and Cedric, their tag along, their voice.

“You are a gay boy, aren’t you? Honestly, English is bad enough without you vomiting gay rainbow answers all over us,” Cedric says, and the others laugh.

They always laugh. Merlin ducks his head and keeps quiet. That seems to be all Cedric has to say, which is unusual but nice. Merlin keeps still in the hopes they’ll go now and he can go to the pavilion and eat his lunch.

“Look up, Girly Merly,” Val says.

Merlin’s so surprised to hear him speak that he does, he looks up. There’s a click, and then they go, laughing and shoving one another, Cedric trailing behind when they start to run, shouting down the hall. Merlin trudges to the pavilion and sits in the corner by the door, taking the table no one wants to sit at.

The next day he’s aware of people laughing when he passes, and some people point at him, but it’s not too unusual. He has a free so he goes to the LGBT meeting, stowing his bag under his chair and staying quiet while the older kids talk about the end of year dance and whether they should all go with dates as a show or whether they should just go with someone only if they actually have a date.

“Well, that wouldn’t be fair on Merlin, would it?” Edwin says, “He’ll never get a date unless we do some solidarity thing. Then again, who of you will go with Merlin? Right. Never mind!”

People laugh again. It’s more good natured now, and someone reaches over to ruffle his hair. He’s been coming since he was eleven and they don’t seem to realise that he’s not just a young kid any more, he’s older now. He’s fourteen, and he actually wishes more people in his year were here, so he wasn’t just the kid who comes along because his mother’s very liberal.

There’s more laughter when he walks into maths and someone calls him gay, which is fairly normal. He sits at the back, taking the table next to Arthur Pendragon only because it’s the only one left. Sitting near Arthur Pendragon never goes well for him, ever.

“Alright, Arthur. What out for Girly Merly- he’s gay, you know. He might infect you or try to kiss you,” Cedric says.

Merlin ducks his head further.

“Shush, Mr Reed’s here,” Percy says, and everyone goes quiet.

Percy doesn’t really talk until he’s asked, so people quiet for him. Merlin wishes he had that power. He also wishes he looked a little more like Percy, muscular and fit, rather than his scrawny self. But he ran all summer and he still just looks like a pencil, even though he’s actually pretty fit now. Or fitter than some, anyway.

“Okay, what’s going on? Why are you all quiet? Is this some kind of protest? Or is it April first? Were you taken over by aliens? Come on, boys and girls, give me something,” Mr Reed says.

The class laughs and Merlin wishes he was like Mr Reed as well, who always jokes and who people actually like. He pulls out his text book and opens it to the page they were set for homework.

“Can you get out your homework, please? We’ll just go over these quickly, if you haven’t got this by now, you never will. I want to get started on those mock papers today. Right, Arthur, give me the first answer,” Mr Reed says.

“Seven? I wasn’t sure, sir,” Arthur says.

“Nope. Merlin?”

“Nine,” Merlin says, knowing it’s right and dreading people’s reaction to him correcting Arthur Pendragon.

“Good. Next, Sarah?”

The lesson goes on, and someone passes a note back. Merlin unfolds it, carefully. It’s got a picture of him on it, with big front teeth and bigger ears, tongue out licking someone’s bum, which has an arrow pointing to it identifying it as Mr Reed. Someone hisses the word ‘gay’ at him. He scrunches up the note and follows the answers on the board.

 

He leaves quickly again and runs to the pav, not bothering to pretend to walk today. He doesn’t want to get caught out, not again. He remembers, as he passes the notice board, that Edwin promised to use the poster he designed for the next LGBT fundraiser, and even credit him for it. He finds the poster, but it’s not his. It’s Edwin’s. He’s about to move on, when he sees another poster, with him on it. It’s also got him vomiting rainbows. There’s a photo right next to it of his head on a girl’s body, with the caption ‘Girly Merly! Watch out for this gay boy, he bites!’.

Merlin reaches out, then let’s his hand fall to his side. What’s the point? They’ll only put them up again. They’ve done it before. Besides which, if history is anything to go by, they’ll already have put them on Facebook. Merlin feels tears start in his eyes as people walk by, laughing.

“Merlin’s such a gay,” someone says.

“Huh,” says someone, standing very close to him.

Merlin freezes and tries to be invisible, not that it’s ever worked before.

“That rainbows thing is kind of cool. I once ate a lot of cool aid packets and then threw up and it looked kind of like that, but much more gross,” the voice says.

Merlin knows who the voice is, but he doesn’t know why he’s standing right behind him talking about puking in such a conversational tone of voice.

“Still, I guess you probably wish everyone didn’t see this, yeah? It’s on the internet. This one, this is new. Nice dress,” the voice continues.

“It’s not mine,” Merlin says, quietly.

“No, no. You’re right- you’re head’s not that big. Also, I think even your ears are smaller than these,” thevoice says, pointing to the enlarged ears on the girl picture.

“Yeah,” Merlin agrees.

“Well, there’s only one thing to do, then,” the voice says, and then he tears down the pictures.  
Merlin turns in surprise and faces Arthur Pendragon. He was expecting something more aggressive. Maybe that’s still to come. Merlin lowers his head.

“why….um, why did you…?” Merlin says.

“Why did I take them down? I thought we established that- one was a bad likeness, and the other was making me jealous of your rainbow vomiting skills,” Arthur says, swivelling and lobbing the ball of paper into the nearest bin.

It’s Arthur, so it actually goes into the bin. Gwaine Green is coming down the hall with Percy, and he sees the shot and comes over. Merlin presses himself closer to the wall.

“And he scores! The crowd goes wild, but it was expected- golden boy Pendragon never misses! Were you tearing down proletariat protests, again, aristocrat?” Gwaine says, laughing and coming to a stop in front of Arthur.

“No, just pictures,” Arthur says.

“Ah, pictures. Mysterious as ever. Well, I says off with your head!” Gwaine says, swinging an arm to whack Arthur in the neck.

Merlin winces and ducks, but Arthur just grabs Gwaine’s arm and pulls it up his back, spinning him. Gwaine laughs and struggles, kicking.

“He’s been doing the French revolution in history,” Percy says, leaning against the wall and watching his two friends as if they do this kind of thing every day.

“Ah ha! A rabble sympathiser, are you, Greeny? Haven’t you heard that we live in a conservative world and that you liberals are way out of fashion?” Arthur says, not letting Gwaine go.

Merlin thinks about slipping away, but decides not to risk moving.

“You will never take our freedom! Help help, I’m being repressed” Gwiane shouts, laughing harder.  
Arthur lets go of his hand suddenly and turns back to Merlin, ignoring Gwaine punching him in the arm.

“So, now that we’ve dealt with the mysterious pictures, are you coming?” Arthur asks.

It takes Merlin a minute to realise Arthur’s talking to him, and by that time Gwaine has given a war cry and leapt on Arthur’s back, beating him around the head with an empty, cardboard folder. Arthur spins, trips and they fall into Percy and all topple to the ground, laughing. Merlin flinches away again and decides now is the time to slip away. He doesn’t get far.

“Oi! Wait up, come on. Be a pal,” Arthur says, catching up.

Merlin stops, waiting for the teasing to begin.

“Merlin, isn’t it? I don’t think we had any classes with you last year. I’m Arthur, which you probably know, that’s Gwaine, the big kid who jumped on me, and the silent Bob is Percy. Are you dashing off to your cool, arty, LGBT friends or something?” is what Arthur says.

“Yes,” Merlin says to the question about his name, “yes,” he says because he already knows Arthur, “No,” hesays, because he doesn’t have any friends, cool, arty, LGBT or otherwise.

“Yes yes no. Right you are, then. Hey, Perce? Can you grab a table in the pav? I don’t wanna end up in the hall like yesterday and no one has any respect for the Pendragon name any more. It’s a sad, cruel wor- oh, no. No no no, you take your big dog with you,” Arthur says.

Merlin stifles a laugh as Gwaine, who Percy had shoved towards Arthur, is shoved back at Percy.

“I feel so wanted,” Gwaine says, but he goes with Percy, leaping on his back and singing in French.

“Look, I’m sorry about those pictures. I’m beginning to think it’s not just the pictures, am I right?” Arthur waits, but Merlin doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what Arthur wants, so he stays silent, “okay. Um, you should come sit with us. We’re a goo bunch of blokes, even though most of us are sporty and… well, there’s Gwaine.”

Merlin shrugs. Arthur opens his mouth as if he’s got other stuff to say, but before he can a blonde blur goes whizzing past, grabbing his bag and laughing wildly. Arthur yells and takes off after the girl, turning to wave to Merlin with a grin and yell the invitation to join them again, and then he’s gone.

Merlin hesitates, but takes his usual table, head down, but he can’t help but slide his eyes curiously over to the table Arthur’s at. There’s not just boys there, there are girls, too. People from different years all glomped together, loud, laughing, happy looking. Merlin watches.

The next day the pictures are not, after all, on Facebook. There are some comments on his wall, but it’s not as bad as it has been in the past. He gets through his morning lessons without event and again watches Arthur’s table in the pav. By lunch time he’s decided he’s missed his window and going over now would look odd, so he sits in his corner.

“Hey, I know your face! Eowyn!” Gwaine yells, jumping up the step and perching on the bench by Merlin, making Merlin start so badly that he drops his sandwich, “shit, sorry, whoops. I just recognised you as Arthur’s friend who he ditched us for yesterday and never introduced. I’m Gwaine.”

Gwaine dives under the table to retrieve Merlin’s sandwich and holds it out. Merlin, seeing the dirt sticking to the cheese, is hesitant to take it and Gwaine draws it back, shrugging and taking a bite.

“Mm. Don’t worry, I’m not just a lunch stealer, I’m a lunch replacer, too. Oi! Perce!”

Percy, on his way to Arthur’s table, comes over and stands at the end of the table, looking at Gwaine with resigned amusement.

“I ate his sandwich,” Gwaine admits, shoving the last bit of crust into his mouth, “And your Mum always makes you really good sandwiches, so I thought you might be a lamb and give one to Merlin?”

Percy shakes his head, but pulls a lunchbox out of his bag and opens it, taking out a packet of sandwiches which he holds out to Merlin.

“Oh, no. It’s all right, I was done anyway,” Merlin says, blushing when his stomach rumbles.

“Don’t worry about it,” Percy says, voice soft, “Arthur will buy me something from the caf that’s way nicer, if I tell him it’s Gwaine’s fault. And Gwaine will get nothing.”

“I can buy myself lunch. So ha!” Gwaine says.

“Are you boys terrorizing Merlin? What are you doing, Percy? Oh, Gwaine. Did you eat someone else’s lunch again? Honest to God, I wonder about your head sometimes,” Arthur says, wandering over.

“He dropped it! I just finished it off because he didn’t want it because it had a _tiny_ speck of dirt on it. Honest, Arthur. Honest to God,” Gwaine says, looking very seriously into Arthur’s eyes.

“Right. Are you coming to get pasta with us? Mithian has a cheese craving, and Gwen says if we don’t go buy her chocolate she’s going to punch Elyan. Also, Merlin, Morgana says she thinks you look like a dear little puppy and she wants to take you under her wing and coddle you, and Elena wants to knit you mittens. You might want to come with us if you don’t want to be cooed over,” Arthur says.

“Are you buying me pasta, too?” Gwaine asks, hopefully.

“No. You can buy your own pasta. I’m already charged with Mith, Gwen and now Percy’s orders and father is away and only left us so much, the majority of which Morgana used to buy herself shoes.”

Gwaine slumps, but then scoots off the bench and jumps on Percy’s back, which seems to be his usual way of getting around. Percy doesn’t complain, just hoiks Gwaine further on and lumbers off. Arthur waits, holding the door open, and Merlin decides he’ll go. He’ll just get up and go, he can always walk home instead of getting the bus, then he can use his bus money to get pasta. His Mum doesn’t even have to know.

Arthur grins at him and follows him out, steps bouncing a bit. He walks with his hands in his pockets, slowing to Merlin’s tentative pace. The silence builds, Arthur seems not to mind, waving to people and walking backwards to yell after them, bumping into teachers and apologising profusely while laughing, skipping ahead a few steps to examine posters, but Merlin feels it’s a failing of his, not knowing how to make conversation.

“You play football?” Is what he eventually blurts, halfway up the stairs to the café.

“Yup. So do Percy, Gwiane and Mithian. Do you play anything?”

“No.”

“Oh, right. You look kind of like you do. Do you run?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, quietly, shy that anyone’s noticed.

“Good idea. Fitness is a great thing if you can do it.”

Merlin can’t think of anything else to say, but he sits with Arthur and Gwaine and Percy and the rest, keeping his head down and eating the pasta he bought with his bus money.

The next day Arthur’s not at the table so Merlin goes back to his corner. Arthur comes in halfway through lunch looking livid. He stalks to his table and sits, hunching over. Merlin decides he’d better not go over, in case the anger radiating off Arthur gets directed at him.

The day after Merlin thinks that they’ve forgotten him. Val pushes him over, and he knocks his head on the wall and has a headache, so he doesn’t even watch, just keeps his head down and eats his sandwiches. His Mum found out about the bus money he spent and said that if he was going to treat it like that he could walk until his bus pass came.

“Merlin? Are you alright?” Arthur asks, sitting by him.

“Yes,” Merlin says, taking another bite of sandwich.

“Thought you might sit with us again. Thought maybe yesterday was an anomaly because I was angry and put you off.”

“No.”

“Okay. Christ, my head is pounding. Mrs Sulivan doesn’t half give me a headache,”

“Me too,” Merlin says, miserably.

“Yeah? Mrs Sulivan too?”

“Val.”

“Shit for brains? He the one who.. you know?”

“No.”

“Right. No, then. Yeah, I’m _coming_ , Morgana!” the latter is shouted and Merlin flinches, “sorry. Come sit with us if you like, Merlin.”

Arthur gets up and leaves. Merlin stays where he is, not sure he’ll really be welcome.

The day after that Val finds him in the loos and says he’s staring, so he gets shoved into the wall. He falls hard and his face hits something, making his ears ring. He lies where he lands for a moment, then gets himself up. He’s got wet patches on his shirt and his face is bleeding, but once he’s cleaned himself up it’s not too bad- just a small cut by his eyebrow and a bruise down the side of his face. His lip’s split a little, but he bites his lips so it’s not too obvious. He takes his shirt off, leaving just the t-shirt. His jumper fell into the urinals, so he has to put that in a carrier bag.

He takes his usual seat in English and keeps his face to the desk, letting his hair fall to cover the bruise. He notices Arthur come in because he recognises his expensive trainers, but he’s careful not to look up in case Arthur’s only friendly sometimes, like other people. Val’s here, so he has to stay quiet.

“Merlin? Why are you wearing a t-shirt? It’s freezing in here,” Arthur says, shoes coming to a stop by Merlin’s desk, “crap, this is a shit pen, Perce! It just exploded!”

Merlin’s curious enough to look up. Arthur’s hand is covered in ink, and he throws a pen at Percy’s head. Percy ducks and the pen hits the wall, leaving a little ink splot then falling into the bin. Arthur looks back at him with a grin, mouth opening to say something, then he freezes.

“Jesus. What happened to you? Was this Shit for brains?” Arthur says, fingers finding the bruise on Merlin’s face.

Merlin flinches away and tries to cover it with his hair again, but Arthur puts a thumb under his chin and raises his face.

“Did Valiant do this?” Arthur asks, looking right into his eyes.

Merlin shakes his head, shaking himself loose, and looks down again.

“That bastard. Does your wearing a t-shirt have something to do with this? Gwaine, what are you doing here, you have maths, but do you still have my college jumper?” Arthur says.

“Yeah, but I thought you wanted me to fix the tear?”

“You can do it another time, give. Thanks. Here, put this on,” Arthur says, and a pile of soft sweatshirt lands on Merlin’s desk.

Merlin shakes his head, catching sight of Arthur’s name. He can’t wear something with Arthur’s name on it, people will think Arthur’s dating him or is gay or something. He shakes his head again and pushes it back towards Arthur.

“How have people let this get so far? This is… you’re… Just wear it, Merlin, please?” Arthur says, pushing it back into Merlin’s hands.

Merlin puts it on, because he’s not sure what else he can do to stop it. It’s really soft and warm, and it’s big enough that he can huddle into it. It smells like Arthur, too- like Lynx and sweat.

“Good. That’s better. Sit with us today, not at that dreadful table. Sit with us. You can walk with me and Perce. Good! That’s settled.”

Arthur sits at the desk next to him and spends the whole lesson passing across pictures of Mrs Sulivan, getting more and more ridiculous. Merlin slides each into his notebook and hopes no one notices.

“Percy, I want to see you after class. No, I don’t think that Desdemona is secretly a ninja. Thank you for the idea, though where you got it from…” Mrs Sulivan says.

“It’s Arthur’s idea, Miss,” Percy says.

“Mine! No way. I definitely- oh. I did. Morgana thinks she’s a bit pathetic, just giving in to Othello, but I said I thought she was still a good part for a woman because they can ninja it a bit and use it to showcase a range of emotion and- sometimes I wonder about you, Perce,” Arthur says, sliding another picture across to Merlin.

“Thank you for that, Arthur. Okay, let’s draw this to a close. I want you all to have a look at the essay questions- don’t pack up, I’m not finished yet- look at the questions at the back of the booklet and choose one to write for next week. If any of you need any help with the poetry from last week, please come talk to me now as I expect you to hand that work in tomorrow. Okay, you can pack up.”

Merlin pushes everything into his bag and hurries out. He hears Arthur shout something to Percy and he speeds up, hoping not to be caught by Val.

“Merlin, running away?”

Merlin freezes, eyes closing. Val comes up with him, Cedric at his back. He stands very close.

“please,” Merlin says.

“You’re wearing something that’s not yours,” Cedric says.

“Oi! Merlin! There you are. What- Valiant, and Cedric. Hello,” Arthur comes up and stands beside Merlin.

Merlin shifts away from him.

“Pendragon. This little faggot is wearing your jumper,” Cedric sneers.

“Do you mean Merlin? Faggot isn’t a very nice word, is it? Is it really the word you were looking for?” Arthur says, then continues before Cedric can answer, “No, didn’t think so. How the fuck you even managed to scrape enough GCSEs to get into Sixth Form I’ll never know, you really are almost as thick as Shit for Brains here. Nice talking, boys. Val, how’s the nose? Good.”

Arthur walks right between Cedric and Valient, grips Merlin’s elbow and turns him forcibly before frog marching him down the hall. He waits until they’re round the corner to laugh, letting Merlin go, grinning and ruffling his hair.

“That was fun. Cedric’s so easy. Did you see that? I think his face went purple,” Arthur say.

“Dunno,” Merlin manages, humiliated.

He can never be so cool and collected, and if he talks back they beat the living crap out of him, but Arthur just threw those insults and walked off, not intimidated at all.

“I could get them kicked out, if you like. Or at least suspended. My Dad’s very important and has a lot of money. Oh! Or, or. Much better plan. Let’s hire ninjas!” Arthur says, looking delighted with his idea.

That’s when Percy comes up, grinning widely.

“Just saw Valient the Twat, Arthur- nice black eye you gave him,” Percy says, tossing a bag Arthur’s way.

Arthur turns and catches it, as though he was expecting it, and grins back at Percy.

“Did you notice his knuckles? He swung at me and I ducked. Made a lovely great hole in the changing room wall.”

“I didn’t see, sorry. I’ll keep an eye out next time I pass him. What were you saying about ninjas? I love ninjas. Did you see that Jackie Chan film?”

“Oh yeah, the very specific one, out all his millions? Yeah, I saw it. Come on, let’s go eat. I’m starved.”

Arthur and Percy both turn away, starting to walk off, and Merlin melts against the wall hoping and fearing he’s been forgotten. Hoping, because he likes to be invisible and kind of wishes he was, fearing because he was almost convinced of their kindness. Before he can work himself into a tizzy, Arthur turns, looking confused.

“Come on, Merlin. Stop trying to become one with the wall, you idiot, and get a move on! Didn’t you hear? I’m hungry. _Hungry_ ,” Arthur says, making a hand movement that meant very little.

Merlin hesitated, then caught them up, ducking his head and keeping quiet while Arthur teases Percy about his vagueness regarding the film as Percy gives details like ‘he fights in it’ and ‘he does this cool little roll’ and ‘I think he jumps off… something. A building, maybe. Or a chair’. Merlin considers slipping away to his usual table, but as they enter the pav Arthur turns to him.

“Merlin, where did we come down on the whole hiring ninjas thing? I should ask Morgana now if we’re going to, because she’ll have to sell some of her shoe collection. Don’t worry- I’ll easily talk Dad into letting her buy shoes. I’m just not convinced he’ll see the importance of ninjas,” Arthur says, brown wrinkling as if anyone who can’t see the importance of ninjas is just confusing.

Merlin has no choice, with Arthur’s attention firmly on him, but to walk with him to the central, noisy table.

“No, thank you,” he manages, trying to work out if he’s supposed to sit somewhere.

Percy crams himself onto one of the benches, but Merlin’s is definitely not doing that, shoving in with people who don’t know him. He stands, clinging to his bag strap, trying to keep his head down.

“Oh! Arthur, you love. You brought me the puppy!” Morgana Pendragon says, hair black as jet and straight as a ruler, lips bright red, smile frightening, safety pins all up one of her ears.

“I did not bring you anything, you witch. In fact, Merlin and I were just scheming, coming up with inventive ways to part you from your shoes. Weren’t we, Merlin?” Arthur asks, turning on Merlin.

Merlin blinks at Morgana, frightening in her intensity, beauty and confidence, and then at Arthur, mouth gaping open, trying to say something that won’t upset either of them. He can’t think of anything, so he shrugs and looks at the floor again.

“Talkative, this one. You and your lost sheep,” Morgana says, distain dripping from her words.

“For fucks sake, Mogs. Go find your own friends for once and leave me alone,” Arthur says, sharp.

“Aw, little prince Arthur has his knickers in a twist. Come on, Gwen, let’s go somewhere with a bit of class,” Morgana says, equally biting.

Another beautiful girl stands up, dark skinned, hair bouncing, and she and Morgana stalk off, arm in arm. Arthur grins and bows to Merlin, then shoves him to sit, penning him in. Merlin tries to make himself smaller and hangs onto his bag.

“Yan, Merlin, Merlin, Elyan. Yan, move your arse across you fat bastard,” Arthur says.

Merlin finds himself with a bit more space. He still doesn’t dare move, or do anything so overt as to get his sandwiches out. Arthur steadily unpacks what looks like an entire four course meal on the table and sets about doing his best to eat everything. Merlin watches in fascination as pasta salad, sandwiches, sausage rolls, fruit, cake bar, crisps and what looks like crispy bits of bacon disappear into Arthur’s mouth.

“For’et your ‘unch?” Arthur says, round a mouthful.

Merlin realises it’s addressed to him and shakes his head, carefully pulling out his sandwiches. Arthur gives them an assessing look, then digs around in his bag and pulls out a cake bar and a small fruit salad pot, both of which he shoves across at Merlin. Merlin isn’t sure what to do, so he just stares, which doesn’t phase Arthur in the least- he simply dumps both in Merlin’s bag with a shrug before leaning across the table to hit Gwaine, joining in a rowdy argument.

“Alright?” Elyan, or Yan, or whoever is beside Merlin says, sounding amused, “don’t worry, Arthur has this effect on people. He feeds most of us, intermittently, when he thinks he ought to eat more healthily. Or less healthily. Or if he wants to slip laxatives to Morgana without her noticing, but he hasn’t actually done that since year eight, so I wouldn’t worry too much. He accidentally got Gwen, too, and at the time he thought he fancied her. She kept farting, which meant Arthur couldn’t talk to her for almost a year without going bright red. It was _brilliant_.”

Merlin nods, a bit taken aback by the stream of words. He carefully unwraps his sandwiches and takes a tentative bite, then another when no one questions him on what he thinks he’s doing, settling in to eat _here_.

“So, other than your name, who are you?” Elyan/Yan asks after a few minutes.

“Um, I’m Merlin,” Merlin says, swallowing before he’s finished chewing properly and nearly choking.

“Ah, well then, all is clear,” Elyan says, sounding amused.

“Yan, stop torturing the poor lad,” someone says from Elyan’s other side, “I’m Leon. I’m the sensible one. Gwaine’s the tosser, Percy’s the quiet one, Elyan’s the… huh. He’s like Chandler, he doesn’t have a thing.”

“I am not the bloody Chanandler Bong!”

Merlin gets forgotten again as the two boys start bickering over who fits which ‘Friends’ character. He sets about eating, keeping quiet.

“Fuck! Ow!” Arthur yells, suddenly.

Merlin jumps, startled by the loud noise right beside him, and nearly drops his sandwich again. Arthur flails, then jumps to his feet, glaring. Merlin shrinks into the bench, wondering what’s going on.

“You fucker, Gwaine! That fucking hurt!” Arthur yells, then throws a book at Gwaine’s head.

Gwaine, not managing to catch it, yells in his turn and also jumps to his feet, all happy childishness gone, replaced by irritation.

“You think you’re so clever with your little head games, don’t you? Well let me tell you something, _Pendragon_ , you don’t know shit!” Gwaine yells, then storms off.

Arthur flails a bit, then growls, then storms off. He only gets about a metre before he stomps back, finger levelled at those left at the table.

“Don’t you dare, Percy. Not a word. Merlin, stay. Everyone else, leave Merlin alone or I’ll have your bollocks,” Arthur says, then storms off properly.

“Phew!” Says the blonde girl who stole Arthur’s bag the other day, laughing and sliding along to fill the space Gwaine left, grinning across at Merlin, “That was dramatic! Can you believe it, they were arguing about-“

“Leave it, Ellie,” Percy says quietly.

“So-rry! So, you’re Merlin?” She asks, eyes big and bright and curious.

“Yeah,” Merlin admits.

“I’m Elena. Or Ellie. Or Clutz. Or something Sunshine. Or all sorts. These guys are all for nicknames. This is Mith,” Elena gestures to the tall dark girl at her side.

Everyone at this table seems to be stunningly beautiful, not a bad gene among them. Merlin waves, then goes back to his sandwiches. He’s trying to get the courage to say something nice to Elena or say anything at all, when two more people come trooping up to the table, one throwing himself down next to Merlin, the other resting a hand on Percy’s shoulder until her budges up, squishing Elena and making her squeak.

“That was an absolute nightmare, Mordred. I’m seriously going to gut Valient if he doesn’t get his head in the game,” says the guy next to Merlin, smelling of sweat.

Merlin recognises him- this is Lancelot Lake, captain of the lacrosse team. The other guy must be Mordred Degrace, also on the lacrosse team. Merlin knows this because they’re Val’s team mates, and Merlin has always been careful to steer clear of them.

“I bet we could get him chucked off, if he keeps playing like this, though,” Mordred says.

“True. That would be a blessing. Hey, where’s Gwen?” Lance says, looking around.

“And Morgana and Arthur. And who’s the new kid?” Mordred asks, staring intensely at Merlin. Merlin tries to sink into the bench and disappear. He’s nearly managed to finish his sandwiches, he might be able to escape soon.

“Arthur threw a hissy fit,” Elena said, “Morgana got pissed off with him for something or other before the hissy fit and went elsewhere with Gwen. The new guy is Merlin, and he’s shy but kinda cute, don’t you think?”

“Like a bunny rabbit,” Mordred says, and Merlin realises after a moment that he is being sarcastic, “what about Gwaine?”

“He was part of Arthur’s storming off. He stormed off, too,” ‘Mith’ says, leaning forward.

“Glad we’re all up to date now,” Mordred says, still sarcastic, and proceeds to unpack a similar sort of lunch to Arthur’s.

Lancelot pulls out his phone and starts texting super fast, so Merlin focusses on getting the last of his crusts finished so he can get away. He’s just finished swallowing and is about to go, when Arthur comes back. He stalks through the pav and pulls Lance off the bench, making him fall onto the floor, and then steps over him and re-takes his seat, glowering right at Merlin.

“Um,” Merlin says, heart speeding up, wondering if Arthur’s finally realised Merlin isn’t meant to be here.

Arthur just shakes his head, his face clearing a little.

“Sorry. Gwaine just…” Arthur huffs in irritation, shaking himself again, “never mind. Did you eat the fruit thing? Gwen says they’re good for you, even though the juice has sugar. Or something, I dunno.”

“I… no, not yet.”

“Oh. Kay. Why is it that every day I get a headache at lunch time? I swear it’s bloody Mrs. Sullivan’s fault. Maybe just Engl- Lance, why are you still on the floor?” Arthur says, sharp and irritated.

“Nowhere else to sit, busy, shh,” Lancelot says.

Merlin fishes the fruit pot out of his bag and peels the lid off, unable to keep from smiling at the tiny yellow fork inside.

“Tell Gwen to keep Mogs away from me this afternoon, I’m not in the mood for her… whatever,” Arthur says, turning back to Merlin.

Merlin carefully wipes away his childish happiness with the fork and eats a chunk of pineapple, head down.

“I have a collection of those forks,” Arthur says, voice softer “I don’t know what to do with them, but I like them too much to throw out.”

“They’re so little,” Merlin says, quietly, holding up the fork for inspection.

“Yeah,” Arthur says, sharp again. Merlin flinches, “shit, sorry. My head is killing me.”

Arthur leans forward to rest his head in his head, then bends so he’s got one arm crooked on the table, face buried. Merlin glances up to see if anyone’s worried, but only Percy frowns. Percy starts rummaging around in his bag, then curses.

“Sorry mate,” Percy says, tapping Arthur’s hand, “Gwaine’s knicked my paracetamol again.”

Merlin puts his fruit pot on the table, carefully balances the fork so it doesn’t fall in the juice then opens the little pocket in the back of his bag, pulling out his own blister pack of Ibuprofen. He offers it to Percy shyly, not sure what to do with it. Arthur’s kind of all hidden.

“Brilliant, thanks mate,” Percy says, smiling, and pops out two pills before handing the rest back.

He nudges Arthur’s hand, waiting for it to open, then puts the pills into it. Arthur groans and raises his head just enough to swallow them dry before going back to half sprawling across the table. Merlin picks up his fruit pot and finishes the chunks of fruit floating around, then pauses, unsure what to do with the juice. He looks around, but no one’s really paying attention, caught up in their own conversations, so he drinks it quickly and pockets the fork.

The conversation has become more subdued, either simply because of a lull or in deference to Arthur’s headache. Merlin would bet the second- everyone seems to sort of revolve around Arthur when he’s there, and they all seem to be waiting for him when he’s not, or maybe just missing some kind of impetus. Either way, they’re all very aware of Arthur. Merlin pulls out the cake bar and eats it quietly, listening to Elyan and Leon idly trading insults about football teams Merlin’s never heard of and Mith and Elena talking about one of the boys in their politics class who has ‘soulful eyes’.

When Merlin finishes his cake bar and a few sips of water he thinks again about leaving, but while he’s been eating more people have arrived and filled the table behind them and the gap between, so he’d have to disturb Arthur who seems to have fallen asleep. He sits for a moment, unable to decide.

“Merlin, I can hear you thinking and it’s making my head hurt,” Arthur says, then pauses, “hurt more.”

“Sorry,” Merlin says, unsure what he’s meant to do.

“Relax. No one here bites. Or, at least, not in the cruel sense. I think Percy has a thing for.. right. Shutting up,” Arthur mutters, trailing off.

“I’m relaxed,” Merlin says, almost hysterical.

Arthur laughs, low and quiet, then sits up, smiling at Merlin.

“I believe that was almost a joke. At least an edge of sarcasm,” he says.

“Ah!” Mordred suddenly yells, “no, you bastard!”

Lance laughs from the floor and that seems to be a sign as noise erupts once more. Arthur winces but doesn’t put his head back on the table. He yawns and stretches instead, as if he’s just had a long and restful nap.

“Are you gonna get tickets for Jesus Christ?” Arthur asks.

Merlin takes a minute to realise the question is addressed to him, and then another minute to understand that Arthur’s referring to the upcoming college production of ‘Jesus Christ Superstar’. Merlin hadn’t been planning on going, having no friends to talk him into it and no one to support in it. And also, Val might be there. He shrugs.

“Yeah, me to. I hate Lord Webber. What did he ever do that was worth knighting him for, anyway? No jousting or overcoming… insurmountable odds. Why do people get knighted, again?” Arthur says, half laughing at himself.

“Political wrangling,” Merlin says, quietly as he can, “to get support from businesses and lobbyists.”

“Oh yeah. That’s right. For a second I thought it was for actual, you know, service to the realm. Admittedly, I kind of enjoyed Cats when my father took Mogs and me over Christmas.”

“I’ve never seen it, but I’ve played some of it. Some of the pieces are alright, I guess.”

“Played? On a… saxophone? Clarinet? Trumpet?”

“Piano. Popular songs are a valid thing to have in your repertoire,” Merlin says, repeating automatically his ongoing argument with Gaius, his teacher.

“True. Almost as valid as… ninjas.”

“You have ninjas on the brain,” Merlin says, then blushes.

“Mm. All Gwaine’s fault for braining me. Christ, I’m sorry, the noise is killing me,” Arthur says and stands, bending to grab his bag. He pauses, turning back to Merlin, “want to join me in the library? I have a free next.”

Merlin hesitates, but he kind of wants out from the centre of the noisy, stragling mess of people so he takes the excuse and trots after Arthur, trying not to look like the puppy Morgana Pendragon accuses him of being. He pauses in the hallway and Arthur stops, turning back to frown at him.

“What?” Arthur asks.

“I… um… are you sure…” Merlin manages, then chickens out and shrugs.

“Come on, let’s commandeer the reading corner. I love those chairs,” Arthur says, and they press on to the library.

It’s very quiet, a mixture of it not being anywhere near exams or end of term and it being Friday, so loads of people are skiving afternoon lessons, so they have no trouble in getting the corner by the radiator, the two big, soft chairs and the sofa. Merlin sits carefully on the edge of the sofa, expecting Arthur to take one of the chairs.

Arthur doesn’t. He sits on the sofa, then sort of curls against the back or it, eyes heavy. Merlin leans back carefully, wondering if it would be possible to go sit on one of the chairs without being horribly rude, clutching his bag in his lap. He starts when Arthur’s forehead comes to rest against his shoulder, freezing.

“Sorry,” Arthur says, “not gonna be much company for you. I really do have a headache.”

“It’s okay,” Merlin says, a little higher pitched than he usually is, “is that why you got so cross with Gwaine Green for throwing a book at your head?”

Merlin wishes he could take back his words, but they keep on spilling out, his natural talkativeness getting in his way. He’s sure Arthur will only be patient so far, especially with a headache.

“Ha! No. Wasn’t really cross about the book. We were having an old argument that’s more or less meaningless to anyone not us,” Arthur says, and sighs, leaning more into Merlin’s side, as if Merlin not saying anything or getting away was an invitation, “I guess it’s a sort of variation on the commoner/nobleman thing. He’s all for anarchy and the rising up of the masses. It’s stupid, an old argument, and rarely gets beyond something stupid like sandwiches.”

“Right,” Merlin manages.

He’s not sure how to cope with having someone quite so sporty and good looking pressed up against him. Or, actually, he’s not how to cope with having anyone pressed up against him. He hasn’t touched anyone, for a hug, or a fist bump, or a noogie, or anything, except his mother and when Val or Trist or someone hits him, in years.

“Thanks for being a pillow. You don’t mind?” Arthur says, sounding drowsy.

“No,” Merlin says, not sure how to say ‘yes, yes, I mind a lot, I don’t know what to do’, “you know when you eat ice cream and your brain freezes?” is what comes out of his mouth next, wild and almost hysterical again.

“Yeah. Hate that.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says.


	4. College AU part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part two of the college AU

Arthur goes home, after about ten minutes. He apologises to Merlin, both for using him as a pillow and abandoning him. Merlin stays on the sofa, clutching his bag, tingling from the feeling of another body pressed so close to his own. He skips his last lesson, but doesn’t walk home until end of day in case his mother notices. 

He sits at his usual table again, the next day, and keeps his head down to avoid being noticed by anyone. Arthur pauses by the table, Merlin recognises his trainers, but doesn’t say anything and leaves again without pushing Merlin to join him, so Merlin assumes that’s it, they’ve realised how awful he is and they’re done with him. He’s surprised by how much it upsets him, when he was so careful to remember they would, when he’s so used to it. 

He goes to maths, but only because he thinks his mother will know if he skips too much. He sits at the back in the corner and watches covertly when Percy comes in, but Arthur’s not there with him. Percy spots him and smiles, sitting beside him.

“Hey, Merlin,” Percy says, sitting down and pulling out a notebook, rooting through his bag, “didn’t see you at break, did you have something exciting on?”

Merlin shrugs, a little confused. Was he meant to sit with them? Did Percy expect it?

“Bugger,” Percy says, softly, shoving his bag under the table, “Arthur has my text book. Can I share?”

Merlin nods, wondering why Percy doesn’t just get his book back when Arthur comes in but not asking. He nudges the book, already open on the right page, closer to Percy. 

“Arthur had a migraine again today,” Percy says, “I think he’s lying down in Heather’s office.”

Heather. Merlin always thinks he’d like to go sit with her, like they’re allowed to. She seems nice and she’s the person they’re supposed to talk to about problems like bullying, but he never dared to. Merlin frowns.

“A migraine?” He asks.

“Yeah, he had one yesterday and then came in this morning, but Gwen says he walked into the Pav at break then went white and left again. Lance says he went to throw up.”

“Oh.”

“Lance probably knows.”

Merlin had thought that Percy was quiet, but he keeps on talking until Mr Reed walks into the room and calls for quiet. Merlin isn’t sure what to think about anything anymore. If Arthur had a migraine that explained why he didn’t stop to talk Merlin into sitting with them, so maybe they’re not done being friends with him yet. But he should stop now anyway, so he can. 

“Hey, you coming, Merlin? If we hurry we can get there before Gwaine comes charging down the hall and jumps on me,” Percy says, after class, waiting impatiently by the door. 

“I…” Merlin starts, trying to get out of it.

“Come on! Quick!” Percy says, laughing. 

Merlin goes. He lets Percy drag him, giggling, down the hall and to the busy table with all the people. He gets shoved into a corner and he sits against the wall, in tight, trying to keep small and unseen. 

“Merlin!” Elena says, sitting opposite him and smiling widely, “how are you? Where were you at break, anything exciting?”

“I…” Merlin says, trailing off, unsure, and Lance shoves in between Elena and Gwen before he can embarrass himself more.

“Merlin, great,” Lance says, after kissing Gwen, “Arthur won’t go home till he sees you. Would you please go to Heather’s and talk him into going?”

“Um, what?” Merlin says.

“No idea,” Lance says, “he’s got it into his head that he absolutely has, HAS to see you before he lets me take him home. He needs to go home, therefore you would be doing me a huge favour if you went and let him see you. Then I can take him home and he can vomit on someone not me.”

Merlin notices that Lance is wearing his sports clothes. 

“Please?” Lance says.

“Okay,” Merlin says.

Lance leaps up, beaming, and hurries round the table to help Merlin extract himself from the crowd. Merlin finds himself being tugged down the halls again and this is the third time he’s been touched without it ending in pain. Lance leads him into a small office.

“Hi Heather, I got him,” Lance says to the woman at the desk. 

“Hi,” Merlin says, shyly. 

“Go on through,” she says, smiling warmly. 

Lance pushes open a door at the back of the office and leads Merlin into a room with drawn curtains. The light is dim, but he can make out the shape of someone lying on a camping bed or a sofa or something, against the wall. Lance pushes him forwards. 

“Hi,” Merlin says again.

“Merlin?” the shape asks, morphing into a sitting position and Arthur, squinting at him. 

“Yeah.”

“Merlin! Good. I saw you earlier, but then… puke. Um… okay?”

“Sure,” Merlin says. 

“Okay, good.”

Lance moves forwards and heaves Arthur up and the two sway, so Merlin ducks under Arthur’s other arm.

“thanks,” Lance says, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t vomit on you.”

They get Arthur out to Lance’s car without him vomiting on anyone, with Merlin’s suggestion that he keeps his eyes shut and an eye mask borrowed from Heather. Arthur sits in the seat, letting Lance buckle him in, limp and pathetic and sweaty. Merlin watches, hovering. 

“thanks,” Lance says again, “I don’t know what’s in his head, but you saved me an argument with him.”

“Sure,” Merlin says.

He watches the car pull away and then goes to class, once again walking home with his mind a confused whirl. 

Arthur’s not at college the next day, but Percy and Gwaine sit with Merlin as break time and talk loudly, laughing a lot, causing more people to migrate. At lunch Merlin sits outside, hoping to escape and have some thinking time, but Gwen and Morgana find him and sit with him. It seems that these people are impossible to escape. 

Arthur isn’t at college the rest of the week, but Merlin gives in and sits with Arthur’s friends. He huddles in the corner, eating his sandwiches, trying to be invisible and quiet. People talk to him, though, and ask him questions and drag him along to the cafeteria and out to watch Lance play lacrosse and on Friday he gets talked into going to the cinema. His Mum’s very pleased and promises to pay his bus fare again, as a reward for making friends. 

His bus pass comes on Saturday so that isn’t necessary, so she makes him macaroni and cheese for dinner instead and they go to rent a DVD. It’s incredibly embarrassing that his mother celebrates him going to the cinema with people, but he persuades her to get the newest Batman film so he doesn’t give in to it. 

On Monday, Val pushes him into a wall and gives him a nose bleed. Merlin pushes his hand against his nose and head for the bathroom, but he passes Heather’s office and the door is open and he finds himself stepping in, tapping on the door. She looks up at him and smiles, then tuts and starts fussing around. 

He ends up sat on the camp bed Arthur had been lying on the other day, a wad of tissue pressed to his nose, an ice pack against his cheek, being questioned gently but firmly. 

“How did you get the bruise, if it’s just a nose bleed?” Heather asks him, sitting a good distance away, voice sure.

“Not sure,” Merlin says. 

He should have gone with tripping. He’s clumsy, it happens all the time. 

“Alright. If you tell me about this, though, I might be able to help.”

“that’s okay,” Merlin says.

She lets him go and he decides that he’ll go again, sometime, and maybe tell her. His nose doesn’t bleed for long and he’s on time for English, but Arthur and Percy are already there. They’re sat at the back, heads together over a book. 

“But Arthur,” Percy says, brow furrowed, “they’re speaking English.”

“Perce, the play is geared towards an English speaking audience. It’s political. It’s about translation! There’s no point in writing it in a language that would have to be translated itself to reach it’s audience, that would just be… Never mind.”

“It would be ironic, then?” Percy asks. 

“Yes, I suppose it would,” Arthur says, sounding surprised. 

“Ha! I got irony!” Percy says, and Arthur laughs.

It breaks whatever internal world the two of them have and Arthur looks up, spotting Merlin where he’s frozen in the doorway. His face crinkles up into a smile and then turns stern. 

“What on earth happened to you, Merls?” Arthur asks, half getting up then changing his mind and kicking out the chair next to him in invitation.

Merlin goes to sit, seeing no other choice and giving in to the desire inside him to sit there, to be friends, to laugh at Percy, too. Also, because Arthur called him ‘Merls’. He’s never really had a nickname before. Or, not a nice one, at least.

“That’s pretty cool,” Percy says, leaning across Arthur, “you’re probably gonna have a black eye. Mordred looked well awesome when he had one, last term.”

Cedric and Val walk in before Arthur or Merlin can reply to that and cedric sidles over.

“Nice look, Ealdor-Rat,” Cedric sneers, poking Merlin’s cheek. 

It hurts a bit, because of the bruise, but Merlin just sits through it. It’s okay; Cedric isn’t the one who does the physical harm. Arthur doesn’t know this, apparently, because before Cedric can poke a second time Arthur’s arm snaps out and catches Cedric’s, tugging him into the desk and twisting, holding him still. 

“Um,” Merlin says. 

Arthur ignores him, instead focussing intently on Cedric, staring into his eyes. Both are frozen, Cedric’s eyes wide and terrified Arthur’s stormy. Arthur’s still and controlled and slightly frightening, so Merlin shuts up. There’s something about the way he’s looking at Cedric, something about the strength and skill of his hold, the way he just _looks_ that makes Merlin nervous. 

“Val!” Cedric says, shrill.

Val shrugs and sits down. 

“He remembers the last time Penny punched him,” Percy says, calm and stern and quiet. 

Merlin thinks maybe he should do something, or maybe he should tell Percy to do something, but then Arthur shifts slightly. 

“Okay, okay!” Cedric says, “I’ll leave him alone, I will, and you won’t see me with Val again, just the way you said. I’m sorry, please let me go, Arthur.”

Arthur lets go and sits back, relaxed, smiling, all tension and threat gone. 

“Are you going to Lance’s on Friday, Perce?” Arthur asks. 

“Maybe. Not sure,” Percy says. 

“Oh yeah, with the hundreds invitations you get it must be hard to decide,” Arthur says, sarcastic and biting, “what about you, Merlin?”

“I… I don’t think I’m invited,” Merlin says, very quietly, focusing on unpacking his things. 

“Of course you are! Didn’t Lance or anyone say anything about it?” Arthur says. 

Merlin shrugs. They maybe had- last week Gwen and Morgana had been talking about having a film night at Lance’s, and Elena had mentioned something, and Gwaine had gone on about wanting to watch ‘The Princess Bride’. But Merlin hadn’t thought he’d been invited. 

“Okay, it works like this,” Arthur says, “if anyone talks about something you want to go to in front of you, you’re invited. If they don’t want you there, they’ll not talk about it in front of you.”

Merlin nods.

“So, are you coming?” Arthur says. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know where he lives, are there busses?”

“No, he lives in the middle of nowhere. No worries, Morehen’s driving and can pick you up. You live in Ealdor, right? That’s near Gwen and we’re getting her.”

“Morehen?”

“Morgana. Sorry, old nickname. So?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Can you pick me up, too?” Percy asks and Arthur shrugs, then nods, “then I’ll come. Mum has no time at the moment.”

Percy looks a little awkward to be saying that and Merlin understands. He doesn’t like making it seem like his Mum hasn’t got enough time for him, either. Or that she doesn’t have money. He smiles at Percy. 

“Awesome,” Arthur says, beaming, “awesome! It’s gonna be epic.”

Merlin’s not so sure. He’s nervous all week and Edwin teases him, as usual, at the weekly meeting. Everyone laughs along and asks about his ‘date’ and which one of the bunch of jocks he fancies and if he can take them along to try and snog Gwaine and all sorts. It’s embarrassing, but it’s the first time Merlin’s been teased for his social life instead of his lack of social life, and Edwin looks at him with a spark of interest, as if suddenly noticing he’s not ten anymore. 

Merlin sits at Arthur’s table every day that week, next to Arthur, and Arthur feeds him. It’s become something of a routine for Arthur to try and confiscate his sandwiches until Percy rolls his eyes and tells Arthur off for being uncomplimentary to Merlin’s mother’s ability to provide him with lunch, at which point Arthur’s focus changes to Percy, or Gwaine, or someone else and Merlin can eat his sandwiches. Merlin rather enjoys the teasing game, even though it is uncomplimentary to his mother. 

By the time Friday arrives Merlin’s comfortable enough with Arthur that he’s not a basket case when getting ready. He knows (because Arthur told him) that Arthur thinks he looks good in purple and liked his black jeans, so he wears a purple shirt with them. He’s also at least confident that he knows who belongs to which name, at least for the people who Arthur actually seems to consider mates and not the huge muddle of hangers on and friends of friends. 

When Morgana knocks on the door Merlin’s mother opens it, Merlin having trouble getting into his black Primark boots on the stairs. 

“Hello,” his Mum says, smiling. 

She’s so pleased he has friends that she bought easy peeling oranges this week, that Merlin loves. 

“Hi, you must be Merlin’s Mum? I’m Morgana.”

“Nice to meet you. Hunith, please.”

Merlin finally wins the battle with the ankle of his boot and gets his foot in, tumbling down the stairs and out the door pausing only to kiss his mother’s cheek and grab his jacket and keys. 

“Do I need anything?” Merlin asks Morgana, who has taken a step back to avoid his careening exit. 

“No, just yourself. Arthur’s in the car, we have to pick up Gwen.”

Merlin nods and follows her out to the street where a low slung red car is sat, humming idly. Merlin gapes. 

“Wow,” he says. 

“Don’t be impressed, it’s my father’s. He doesn’t know I drive it.”

“How are we going to all fit in?”

“We’ll fit. It’ll be a squeeze, but there are five seats and five people.”

Merlin opens the back door and slides in, and is surprised to find Arthur sat there. He’s just wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but he still looks good. He smiles at Merlin. 

“Evening,” Arthur says, smile widening into a grin. 

“Hi,” Merlin says, buckling himself in and holding tight to his jacket. 

Morgana gets in the front, glares at the mirror and changes the music from drum and base to Ed Sheeran, then pulls away. Arthur leans forwards and shoves a CD in, slapping Morgana’s hand when it reaches out to change the radio again. 

“You’ll like,” Arthur says, “I promise!”

Morgana glares again, but her face softens a little when Apocalyptica comes out of the speakers. Merlin bites his lip to stop from smiling. 

“You like, too?” Arthur asks him, noticing. 

“Uh-huh,” Merlin says. 

“Good! Now, to Gwen’s, Chauffer!”

Morgana and Arthur bicker all the way, between talking to Merlin and Gwen respectively, and Percy when they get him. It’s about half an hour later that they reach anywhere, by which point Arthur and Percy have started a rousing version of Bohemian Rhapsody to drown out Jason Miraz and Morgana and Gwen are yelling good naturedly. It’s noisy and everyone seems very over excited, so Merlin sits very quietly and tries to be forgotten. 

“Okay! We’re here!” Arthur says. 

Merlin peers out of the window. It’s fairly dark, but he can still make out fields all around them. Morgana pulls up onto the verge behind a Landrover and turns the engine off, and Percy and Arthur leap out, Percy chasing Arthur in circles round the car then tackling him into the grass. Gwen twists around to smile at Merlin. 

“Ready?” she asks. 

No, Merlin thinks, No I’m not ready. He gets out, though, and stands, shivering. 

“Carry this,” Morgana says, passing him a plastic bag of clanking bottles, “I don’t trust Arthur with the booze. Oi! Arthur! Come carry the soft drinks!”

Arthur slides across the bonnet of the car to get to them, making Percy ‘whoop’ and cheer. Merlin smiles, trusting the dark to hide it. He wonders if Arthur would be willing to teach him to do that. 

“Alright, Merls?” Arthur says, enthusiastic, bouncing beside him. 

“Yeah,” Merlin says, “does Lance live in a field, though?”

Arthur barks a laugh and ruffles his hair before slinging an arm around his shoulders. He’s warm and heavy, but strong, close to Merlin. His heat seeps into Merlin’s bones and warms him.

“Come on, you’ll see,” Arthur says, starting to walk.

He doesn’t let go of Merlin, steering him along instead, keeping hold. They pick their way down a pot-hole strewn lane, walking for about ten minutes before the lane opens up into a wide, well surfaced driveway flooded by light from the frankly massive house there. There are big windows all down the front, all lit up from inside, and there’s music coming out. 

“Wow,” Merlin says.

“It’s nice,” Arthur says, “His step father’s a farmer. Good bloke, too, keenly fond of Lance and his mother, both. Come on, Morgana will kill us we linger too long with the drinks.”

Arthur pushes open the door and kicks off his shoes, yelling for Lance, finally letting Merlin go. Merlin stands, feeling awkward again. He considers taking his shoes off, too, but he’d have to put down the bag of alcohol for that and he doesn’t know how to do it without bringing attention to himself. Arthur’s being mobbed by people, all loud and laughing. 

“Oi! Penny!” Gwaine calls and promptly leaps on Arthur, wrangling him into a half-hug, half-head lock. 

Arthur returns it with equal violence and enthusiasm and they’re both on the floor by the time Lance pushes his way through the crowd, Gwen on his arm already in firm possession of a drink. 

“Would you berks who weren’t invited get out?” Lance says.

Merlin burns hot with embarrassment, thinking it’s aimed at him, and tries to vanish. But then Lance turns to him and smiles. 

“Merlin, you made it! Brilliant. And you brought booze, you are a god,” Lance says. 

“It’s… Morgana,” Merlin tries to explain as a huge chunk of people tug on wellies and roar out into the night, taking a lot of the chaos with them. 

“Bloody young farmers. Think every time I have you gits over it’s an invitation to crash the party, spike the punch and get drunk,” Lance grumbles, which explains the people he threw out and reassures Merlin that it hadn’t included him, “hello, Arthur.”

“Great. I come last,” Arthur says, letting go of Gwaine and getting to his feet, picking up his bag of drink and passing it to Gwen. 

Merlin holds out the booze to Lance and Lance, after giving him an odd look, takes it. 

“Shall I take my shoes off?” Merlin asks Arthur quietly when Lance and Gwen retreat again. 

“Huh? Oh, nah. Only if you want. I do out of habit, but Gwen’s wearing hers and most of the others probably will be. I’ve been coming here since I was five and covered in mud, when it was drummed into me that traipsing mud all over the house would be Very Bad.”

Merlin crouches to undo his laces and struggle out of his shoes anyway. He thinks they’re a bit muddy and the carpets look expensive.

“He’s lying,” Gwaine says, making Merlin start because he’d forgotten Gwaine was there, “Lance has only lived here a few years.”

“Shut it, Green, he gets the idea,” Arthur says, gripping Merlin’s shoulder to stop him falling on his arse and tugging him up once his boots are off. 

Arthur grips Merlin’s elbow and steers him away, ignoring Gwaine’s whining for a hand up. The house is as nice inside as it is out, all exposed beams and high ceilings, open spaces that are well lit, tasteful decoration. There’s a hamster cage in the living room and half a dozen people lazing about on various bits of furniture. Arthur puts Merlin on a sofa and sits beside him, so Merlin’s pressed between Arthur’s body and the arm of the sofa. 

“Merlin!” Mithian cries from Arthur’s other side, “you came! Brilliant. Please tell me you’re a vote in the camp of Batman over Gwaine’s awful idea of Wayne’s world?” 

“I thought he wanted to watch ‘Princess Bride’?” Arthur asks, relaxing back, arm around Merlin’s shoulders. 

“He went off it,” Percy says, “when he saw the amount of DVDs Lance’s Dad has.”

“Step Dad,” Morgana says, from where’s she’s sat on a foot stool.

“Either or,” Lance says, coming in with a tray of drinks and causing a great cheer to go up. 

“Well I want to watch the Lord of the Rings,” Arthur says, “or the Hobbit.”

“that’s all you ever want to watch!” Leon protests, sitting on Arthur and proceeding to wriggle his way between him and Mithian, “I am not watching it, not again! A million times is enough. I vote Batman, if it’s the newest, otherwise Princess Bride.”

“It’s the newest,” Elena says, sat by the TV, “okay, options are; Princess Bride, Wayne’s World or Batman. I’d throw LOTR in, Arthur, but we already know you’re the only vote for that.”

Arthur grumbles, but it’s good natured and he votes enthusiastically for Princess Bride. Merlin doesn’t vote, unable to decide which option is best, but no one calls him out and Arthur even gives him a fond look and a drink when Merlin mutters about it. They end up, somehow, watching Pirates of the Caribean. Arthur explains that it’s because of the Proportional Representative system of voting they use which includes second and third choices, but Gwaine biffs him round the head with a cushion and says it’s because Elena is in charge of putting the DVD in and got confused. Elena then explains that the DVDs are all in the wrong cases and Lance gives yet another explanation. 

However it happens, that’s what they watch and Arthur knows all the words and steps to all the sword fights and causes chaos and irritation and laughter. Merlin watches him bounce his way through the furniture and people, talking and stepping along to William turner, imaginary sword slicing the air, and finds himself with only one thought; ‘Arthur is mad, but absolutely brilliant’. 

“You’re drunk,” Gwaine says, later, when Arthur tries to dance along with Fred Austair (Merlin was surprised by the unanimous vote for ‘Follow the Fleet’).

“There may be trouble ahead, but while there’s moonlight, and dancing, and love and romance, let’s face the music and dance! Merlin, dance with me,” Arthur sings.

Merlin shakes his head, sinking further into the sofa. Arthur tries again to get him up, then flumps down next to him instead, huffing. He leans his head back on the sofa and he’s beautiful- flushed and smiling. Merlin looks quickly away, focussing on the screen and the movie. 

“I’m bored,” Arthur whispers, rather too loudly. 

Merlin blinks, trying to formulate a response. 

“Come on,” Arthur says, fingers digging into Merlin, locating and wrapping around his wrist and tugging. 

Merlin goes. He lets Arthur lead him, tiptoeing and over the top, out of the room and into the kitchen. There’s only one light on and it’s dim, though not dark. Arthur hoiks himself onto the table, facing the bank of windows that look out of the back of the house. 

“Alright?” Arthur asks.

Merlin examines their reflections, watching Arthur watch him. 

“I’m alright,” he says.

“Good! So you’ll come again? Next time we do this?”

“Um… I guess.”

Arthur smiles and reaches out, ruffling Merlin’s hair. 

“Good,” he says again, then lurches forwards to rest his head on Merlin’s shoulder, looking at their reflections, “I like the way I look on you, Merls.”

It’s soft, Merlin almost misses it. But only almost. He tenses, shoulders tightening up. He’s had a few drinks himself, though he’s nowhere near Arthur’s level of tipsy drunkness, and he’d been loose. 

“What do you mean?” he asks. 

Arthur bites his lip and looks intently at the glass, scrutinising. 

“I like you,” he says, gently, “the way you look. The way you behave. The way you smell. I like how I look, next to you. I don’t, usually, look at myself.”

Merlin has no idea what to say to that. 

“You like the way I smell?” Is what he finally lands on.

“I do,” Arthur says, turning to bury his nose in Merlin’s neck.

“What… what is this?” Merlin asks, still looking at Arthur only in the window. 

“I like you,” Arthur repeats. 

“What…”

Arthur reaches and turns Merlin’s head, fingers on his chin, and kisses him. It’s sloppy and not great. Merlin’s had better kisses. He stares, slack with shock, and then shoves. Arthur flails then topples, rather slowly and un-dramatically, off the table. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Merlin asks, “what game are you playing? Are you taking pictures or something?”

Arthur looks up at him from the floor, eyes glassy. 

“You’re drunk,” Merlin says, “what are you playing at?”

“I… I like you,” Arthur says, for the third time.

“Right,” Merlin says. 

He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s tipsy and the boy he’d thought was becoming a friend seems to have another agenda.

Merlin turns and walks out. He gets his jacket and his shoes and walks out of the house, up the drive. It’s pitch black out- they’re in the middle of nowhere, there are no street lights or cars or even house lights. Merlin isn’t familiar with the place so he keeps tripping and walking into hedges, but he keeps going, stumbling his way, groping. He finds the tarmac surface of the road and looks hopelessly into the darkness. How is he going to get home? Which way is home? 

Before he can think, there are footsteps behind him and Morgana come up, running, out of breath. She was clever enough to think to bring a torch and she shines it on him, then leans on her knees. 

“Fuck, Arthur’s right. I need to do more exercise,” she says, straightening.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asks, feeling himself begin to shake. 

He shoves his hands in his pockets so she won’t notice.

“Arthur said you need a lift home. You were upset, he said. He then stormed out, by the way, so if you want to see him to talk you’ll have to make the trek to the stables. He’ll be grumbling to Duke and Duchess. But, you’re a boy, so you won’t want to talk. So, I’ll drive you home?”

Merlin stares at her. 

“Who are Duke and Duchess?” he asks. 

“Duke is a cart horse, Mr. Duluc uses him sometimes, but mostly Lance’s Mum rides him when she’s home. Duchess is Lance’s old horse, though Arthur rides her more these days.”

“Arthur rides? Lance rides? He has horses?”

“Yes, yes and yes. Am I taking you home or to the stable?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. Home.”

Morgana, thankfully, doesn’t ask him any questions. He’d thought she seemed the type to. She rambles on about the horses and Arthur and the films until they reach Merlin’s house. 

“Merlin,” she says, before he can escape.

He pauses, hand on the door handle. 

“What?”

“Arthur’s my brother. I don’t know what he did, and I know him well enough that this is his fault and he did do the wrong thing, but I know him. He didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Merlin shrugs, not looking. He doesn’t know what Arthur was doing or thinking, or what he feels about any of it, but he doesn’t want to talk to Morgana about it.

“I understand that you are vulnerable at the moment,” Morgana says, staring out of the windshield, “and that you’ve got stuff to deal with. But I won’t let you hurt him, and I won’t let you assume that because of who he is he isn’t vulnerable, too.”

Merlin gets out of the car, and she lets him go, pulling back out into the road and roaring away. Merlin heads into the house, greeting his mother who’s sitting up for him. 

“Well? How did it go?” she asks, “I had thought I’d be receiving a call to ask if you could stay over.”

“I… someone kissed me,” Merlin blurts out, standing in the doorway, still too tipsy and dazed and confused to lie to his mother. 

“That’s… nice?” she asks, obviously trying not to beam. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know why he kissed me.”

“Maybe because he thinks you’re lovely, like I do.”

“I hope not quite like you do, that would be weird. I don’t… he’s popular. A jock. I thought he was straight. I thought he was a friend. I think this is a game, or a trick, or an experiment, or… I’ve been drinking.”

“Mm. You’re seventeen, seventeen year old boys often do drink, love. Why can’t someone like that fancy you?”

“I’m… not popular. I’m the one who has no friends, who’s geeky, who actually likes doing the work and gets my homework in on time and… I sit on my own at lunch, I don’t get noticed. I don’t understand.”

His mother makes him sit at the table and makes him a cup of tea and gets the whole story out of him, including Val and Cedric and the others. She’d known he wasn’t happy and that he was having problems, but her mouth goes tight and her face grim when he tells her names and a few specifics. She doesn’t comment, though, just lets him talk on. 

“Arthur’s the one who kissed you?” she asks, when he’s done.

“Yeah.”

“It sounds to me as if he’s liked you for a while, that it wasn’t just a thoughtless moment. And I think that he does like you. Tell me about him.”

“He… he plays football. He punched Val.”

“I like him already,” his Mum mutters. 

“Cedric hasn’t confronted me since Arthur… uh… talked to him, I guess. And I haven’t seen him with Val.”

“What’s Artur like, though? Is he kind? Is he nice to you?”

“Yeah. He’s… he’s nice. Arthur’s… he’s clever, in different ways than I am. He’s good at people.”

“You’re good at people, you’ve just forgotten that.”

“He makes me eat fruit and buys me pasta sometimes. He looks out for everyone around him, even the freaks and geeks and hangers on who sometimes crowd around the group. He makes jokes about his intelligence and pretends to be less clever than he is. He’s never given me a reason to think he’d play a game like this, but I haven’t known him long. Three weeks.”

“You don’t have to date him, or be friends with him. You’re not obligated to him in any way. It does sound like he’s been courting you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be just friends. It’s only been three weeks, he’d get over the rejection. Just be clear with him what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“You’ll have to think about that.”

“what… what if they realise, though?”

“Realise what?”

“That I… that I’m useless and pathetic and all the bad things.”

Merlin’s mother sighs and hugs him and tells him he’s beautiful and wonderful and clever, and strokes his hair and hums, and he clings to her. He starts to cry, curling into her warmth, letting the fear and anxiety that always dog him out. He’s going to be so embarrassed tomorrow, but right now he’s not sober and he wants it, wants her, wants this. So he gives in and cries. 

Arthur finds him at break on Monday and sits with him, huddling in his jacket. It’s mostly empty out here, but Merlin likes to sit here sometimes, in the winter, when the field is clear of sporty people. It’s calm and empty and it’s just him out here. 

“I’m sorry about Friday,” Arthur says, “I didn’t mean to kiss you.”

“Okay,” Merlin says.

He still doesn’t know what he wants, or what Arthur wants, or what’s going on.

“I know you find it hard to believe, but I actually like you, Merlin,” Arthur says, sounding a little bemused, “I’d like to date you, because I find you attractive. But I’d also like to be friends, because you’re funny.”

“You’re straight.”

“Not so much. Never have been. I’ve never had a girlfriend or anything. I kissed a girl once, but she just had a really cold tongue, is all I remember.”

“Did you ever kiss a guy?”

“Just Gwaine, once. When we were drunk. And Leon, in dares ages ago.”

“Did they have cold tongues?”

“Dunno. Gwaine’s a good kisser.”

“He seems the type who practises.”

Arthur snorts with laughter, curling forwards, blowing hair off his face. Merlin dares to look at him, and even meets his eyes briefly, looking for some clue. 

“Just friends, then,” Arthur says and pulls his hands out of his pockets, clapping them and blowing on them, “that’s okay.”

Merlin looks away again. 

“It’s not… I don’t know you much, and I don’t… don’t trust you,” Merlin admits. 

“No. No, I suppose not. Okay. You should still sit with us, though. Instead of out here freezing your bollocks off. Gwaine gave me a right telling off when he realised it was my fault you weren’t sat there this break.”

“Gwaine did?”

“He thinks you’re funny, too.”

“Oh.”

“Percy says you’re ‘lovely’. And Morgana says you’re a cute puppy and Gwen says no, that you’re a kitten really, and Elena says baby rabbit. Basically they are right now debating your merits. You should go make them not do that, before they get onto who knows what. Definitely you should.”

Merlin nods.

“Are you coming?” he asks, getting to his feet. 

“Yeah, okay. Go on ahead, yeah? I’ll be up.”

Merlin goes. He walks into the Pav and over to the busy table, clutching the strap of his bag. He gets a squeal of delight from Elena in greeting, and she trips over her feet to hug him already gushing about something or other. Lance moves over on the bench to make room for him and Merlin sits, pulling out his apple to eat. 

He keeps very quiet and out of the conversation, but he feels almost as if he’s actually welcome here. Arthur doesn’t join them, but no one comments and he’s there at lunch, sitting with Lance at the far end of the table, when Merlin arrives. Merlin sits on the end, next to Gwaine. 

“Merlin, my boy!” Gwaine says, by way of greeting, “what have you just had? Was it torture?”

“I had Politics,” Merlin says, focussing on getting his sandwiches out without looking like he thinks this is his right, his table, without any entitlement to space. 

“Ugh, poor you. I had drama, which is such a drag. Artaud may have been a genius, but it’s the kind of genius a bunch of sixth formers are in no way qualified to copy. I mean, chocolate spread smeared across a face? What the hell even is that?”

“Uh,” Merlin says, managing to get his sandwiches out and unwrapping them. 

Gwaine wriggles, yelping, and turns to glare at Elena, who’s sat on the other side of him. 

“What? Fingers are not meant for prodding,” Gwaine says. 

“They were made for just that purpose, actually. Arthur is trying to get an orange to Merlin, who apparently still doesn’t eat enough fruit,” Elena says. 

Merlin accepts the orange, but avoids meeting Arthur’s eyes. Gwaine carries on telling Merlin about the chocolate spread. Merlin eats quietly, and keeps his head down, but he accepts Gwaine’s invitation to go to Subway after college, before busses. Or before Merlin’s bus- Gwaine has a car. They meet out in the quad, and Gwaine is there first. Merlin adjusts the strap of his bag, awkward and unsure. 

“Hi,” he says, “who else is coming?”

“No one. Come on, I’ll drive down,” Gwaine says. 

Merlin doesn’t point out that it’s ridiculous to drive the five minute walk, he just follows Gwaine. Sitting in Subway over a foot of sandwich, Merlin’s hit by how this is the first time he’s done anything with anyone that isn’t just him going along to a group event. Since he was all of ten years old. He feels tears prick his eyes and panics. 

“You alright?” Gwaine asks, interrupting his own story about Percy, Leon and an inflatable dragon, “you look funny.”

“My bus… I should go, or I’ll miss it.”

“Nah, mate, I’m giving you a lift home. Obviously. It’s not far out of my way.”

“Oh. But…”

Merlin looks around for escape, but there is none.

“But nothing. Now, tell me. Arthur says you’re a closet Harry Potter nerd, but I disbelieve him.”

“Um… I was the right age… I read them?” Merlin says, trying not to disclose his love. 

“Oh,” Gwaine says, sounding disappointed, “I thought I’d found a fellow enthusiast. Ah well, it’ll still just be me myself and I at the Harry Potter studios.”

Merlin feels his insides warring. He wants to go to the studio! He really wants to go, always had. But he also wants no one to ever find out how much he adores the books, to never find out about the stupid stories he used to write about the characters. He keeps silent.

“Well, I guess there goes my Harry Potter pal,” Gwaine says, looking mournfully at Merlin, “I read this fanfiction yesterday, and it was so awesome. I really wanted to tell you about it.”

“You, you could tell me,” Merlin says, “I don’t hate Harry Potter. I didn’t say… I mean… fanfiction?”

“Yup. Stories about the characters, you know? Morgana says I’m a loser and that it’s sad, but Arthur says it’s a valid form of imagination. They had a huge argument about it. I think Arthur’s just all awkward about the similarities between illustration and fanart. He draws pictures for all sorts of geeky books. You should see his painting of Smaug, it’s brilliant. When I saw the film I was heartbroken, because I couldn’t decide which was better- Pete Jackson’s version or Arthur’s.”

“I… he draws fanart?”

“He draws. He calls it illustration. I call it fanart. Especially seeing as he sometime condescends to draw pictures for my fics.”

“You write fanfic?”

“Ha! I knew it! You know all about it, you are immursed. You cannot deny! Fanfic, ha!” 

Gwaine starts wriggling about in excitement, pointing and grinning, beaming at Merlin. Merlin bites his lip, but then shrugs and gives in to the smile. 

“I’m rather partial to Arthur and Eames from Inception,” he admits, “they’re so hot.”

Gwaine beams harder and reaches over to tug Merlin into an awkward bear hug in his excitement.

“I love them! My only complaint is that Tom Hardy is a descent actor so all his characters are very different, so that none of the continuity between his films rings true for me. Like when people write stories where Eames used to be Handsome Bob from Rock’n’Rolla. It just doesn’t click for me.”

Gwaine looks geniunly sad about that. 

“they’re still good fic, though, sometimes.”

“oh, surely. Interesting concept, too. I mean, AUs are obviously so much fun. The chance to explore the characters in different settings.”

Merlin forgets about Val and Cedric and college and Arthur, and when he gets home (not until very late, with a packet of half eaten chips and a huge apology for his mother) he and Gwaine are firm friends and Merlin’s incredibly happy that sometimes even nice, normal, hot people like fandom things. 

After that, college gets easier. People leave Merlin alone, which Merlin thinks has something to do with Arthur because Arthur sometimes turns up fuming and growling, sometimes nursing a split lip (though that’s rare). Merlin and he don’t talk much, but it’s okay because Merlin sticks to Gwaine and that brings Percy into his orbit and somehow, before two months have passed, Merlin has friends. It’s incredible and surreal.

He goes for coffee with Gwen and Morgana, and sits quietly while they talk about shopping and boys, weighing in when they ask him to but always being careful. He spends at least one night a week at Gwaine’s, or with Gwaine at his, writing fanfiction and beta-ing for each other, reading, browsing tumblr, debating various fandoms and pairings. He plays tennis with Lance and Mordred and he goes swimming with Percy. He goes to parties and games nights and film nights. It’s like being a real person or something. 

The only down side is Arthur. He’s perfectly polite and friendly, he’ll have whole conversations with Merlin, but he’s always careful to put a certain amount of distance between them. Merlin had thought, to begin with, that it was out of embarrassment or to get over him or something, but after a whole month it becomes wearing and tiresome. He asks Morgana once, but she gets cross with him and tells him to mind his own business or ask Arthur. 

Merlin decides to do just that. He’s rather drunk, at Gwaine’s, and they’re all playing CoD in the livingroom. Arthur’s gone to get a jumper from Gwaine’s room and Merlin, deciding now is perfect, blows Percy up and takes a swig of vodka before letting Elena shoot him. He gets to his feet, stumbles over Gwaine’s legs, then leaves the other three to play on without him and follows Arthur to Gwaine’s bedroom. 

Arthur’s running his finger over the statue of a dragon that’s on the top of the chest of draws, staring at the poster of Smaug with narrowed eyes. Merlin sits on Gwaine’s bed and stares up at the mural that’s painted there. It’s a night sky, but the stars are labelled and unfamiliar to anyone who hasn’t spent years and years carefully studying Star Wars. Merlin hasn’t, but Gwiane has explained it all to him. 

“I like this picture,” Merlin slurs, “even though Star Wars isn’t my thing.”

“Your fandom?” Arthur asks. 

“Huh?” Merlin says. 

He keeps all his fan-ish stuff to just him and Gwaine, most of the time. No one else knows about it. Unless Gwaine’s said something. 

“Never mind,” Arthur says, sounding frustrated.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Merlin asks, propping himself on his elbows. 

“Nothing,” Arthur says, pouting, “nothing at all.”

“okay. So, I wondered, and Morgana said I had to ask you not her because though you’re twins you do not count as a single person and if I say it again she’ll chop something important off. I think she was talking about my hair.”

“I think she was talking about something further south.”

Merlin looks down at himself, bewildered. 

“My chest hair?”

“Sure,” Arthur says.

“Oh. Okay. If I was going for chest hair, I’d probably go the whole hog and just chop off the nipples, really. That’s more painful. Anyway! So, I asked her but she said no I have to ask you. Why aren’t you nice to me anymore?”

“I am nice to you.”

“I mean at first you were really nice, and friends and all that, but then you asked me out and I said no and after that you were all awkward and sullen and you never stopped being awkward and sullen.”

“I’m not sullen. Or awkward. And you didn’t say no, you didn’t say anything at all. I shouldn’t have asked you, I know. It doesn’t matter, that was ages ago.”

“But you should be nicer to me.”

“I am nice!”

“You’re mean.”

“I’m not. I’m… how do you think Gwaine knew to press you about fandom stuff? Or Percy about you liking to go swimming? Or Lance about the tennis, or any of them about anything you like? It’s not like you talked to them about it. Why do you think they never ask you what happens, when you get upset and quiet and squirmy? Why do you think- look, I just don’t… I can’t… I told you that I like you, but it was a lie. I love you. I can’t help myself. I don’t want it, I try not to, but you…”

Arthur looks at him helplessly, then jerks abruptly and leaves the room. A few minutes later the front door slams and Merlin’s left gaping at the wall, wondering what just happened.


	5. A funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon dies. He does this a lot in my head, because it leads to Arthur angst and Merlin comfort, which is my favourite thing. Sorry, Leon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: character death, grief, funeral.

“Leon was a good man. He was honourable and he was a good soldier, he-” Merlin watches Arthur look down at his cue cards, hesitating, that familiar crease perching on his forehead. Merlin bites his lip and hopes whatever Arthur does this time is going to be good and not- “Actually, that's not quite right. I don't think I've met a man who was less a soldier. Leon was absolute crap at it.”

Oh god.

The crowd gasps in shock and Leon's sister looks like she's going to murder Arthur. Merlin hides his face, behind his hands, peeking out through his fingers only when the silence stretches to almost breaking point.

“Leon was the worst soldier I've ever met, he was. I'm not going to lie to you. He was clumsy and unco-ordinated, he was always dropping things and if we didn't look out he would stumble into all sorts of trouble. IEDs among other things. Ambushes. Friendly fire. To name but three.”

Oh Arthur.

“He was absolute rubbish at it. And you know what? Despite that, I've never had better SO. He could create moral from nothing in the middle of a week long fire fight, he could boost the men's spirits with a laugh or throw away comment. He was the perfect foil for my sometimes uptight, always anal, order-driven style. He was... I've never had a better SO, and I've never had a better friend.”

Oh, Arthur.

“He was brilliant. He used to wander off base, wherever we ended up. I'd go looking for him, bemoaning his restless feet. I once found him down a half bombed out alley, a bunch of children gathered around him. They were playing instruments fashioned out of who knew what, and Leon was trying to sing the Arabic songs they were teaching him,” Arthur laughs and the crowd follows suit, hesitantly, still not sure whether to be angry or not, “And I once found him sat with a woman in a burka. Just sitting. He didn't speak a word of Arabic. I apologised to her and told her I'd explain to him that a woman alone with a Western man could get her in trouble, but she shook her head. She didn't mind. She liked his company, she said. Everyone did.

“I used to sit him in the middle of the barracks, or on the city wall, or behind the tank, whenever we lost someone I'd sit him down and put a guitar in his hands. Or a pipe, or a violin. Whatever was around. He'd just pour out the most incredible music, like he was telling the story of whoever was gone, filling up the space they left and bringing us back from ragged edges. I don't know what we'll do without Leon. I don't know what I'll do without him.

“I'm supposed to stand up here and tell you about him as a soldier, as one of my men. But Leon transcended that so long ago, I can't remember it. He was my friend. He was the first person who I told I was gay, the first person I introduced my partner to, the person I went to whenever I had a fight or one of those hellish dreams we all get. All you civis should leave here today knowing one thing about Leon's place in the army and one thing alone; he was integral and loved and the best. That's what they ask of us; to be the best. And Leon truly was.”

Arthur picks up his cue cards, laughs and looks up at the weeping crowd, “knew I should have stuck to the cards. I wrote a lot of nice things on these, you know. Never mind. Merlin, I can't actually get back down the steps.”

Merlin wipes his eyes and sniffs, jumping up and hurrying down to the podium, offering his shoulder for Arthur to use. Arthur has crutches still but he needs Merlin's arm around his waist and a hand under the elbow to get down the steps. He laughs when he makes it and takes a bow before making his slow way back to his seat.

He sits, head back, eyes closed, smiling in the sun. When they give the salute tears leak over his cheeks. He doesn't try to stop them or hide them, he just sits through it all, closed eyes following the ritual of the flag and the lowering of the coffin. When the crowd rises, Arthur doesn't move. He shifts closer to Merlin and waits, eyes opening only when Holly comes over, clinging to her brother.

“Captain Pendragon.”

Arthur struggles to his feet and offers his hands for her to take, which she does.

“How are you doing, Holly?”

“I've been better. I think I'm doing okay, though. You know.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Thank you. For the eulogy.”

“I really did plan a whole speech about how brilliant he was, I'm sorry I went off script.”

“I'm glad you did. It was perfect for him. He was such an odd ball.”

“A very honourable and brave man, and loyal to a fault. I relied on his friendship and advice.”

“Are you going back?”

Arthur takes a deep breath and looks down at himself, self deprecating half smile in place.

“I don't know what will heal or how long it will take. I don't have a unit at the moment, I have no men. Owen's still recovering, Gwaine took a transfer, Lance took a promotion. Ellie... PTSD, I think. I will be recommending her honourable discharge when asked.”

“So you'll be around?”

Arthur looks uncomfortable and Holly hurries to take it back, but Arthur squeezes her hands.

“Sorry. You know you can ask us for support, Holly, and I'll do all I can. But no, I won't be around. I may not be active at the moment but I have work to do here. They've asked for me at the Pentagon as soon as I'm well enough to travel, so Merlin and I are uprooting to Washington in the next few weeks.”

“Oh.”

“Skype exists, and we'll be here for a while. I just can't promise you I'll be here. I'm sorry.”

“No, no. It's your job. I understand.”

“I know. Now. Are you going to come to the wake, or are you headed home?”

“I... I don't know.”

“You'll be welcome there. I know you're not that comfortable at service events. We have a recording of some of Leon's songs and I think they were going to toast him with JD.”

Holly laughs and shakes her head, but then nods.

“I'll go.”

“Good. I think you'll like what they've got planned.”

“Are you coming?”

“I'll be along in a few. I have something I need to do first.”

Holly nods and leaves, once again relying on her brother support. Arthur stands gazing after them, then turns to Merlin.

“All right?”

“No, not really.”

Arthur holds out an imperious arm and Merlin smiles, glad to see Arthur still has spirit. He takes the arm and Arthur leans on him, making his way to where they're burying Leon. He waves a hand and they pause. There's only a scatter of earth on the coffin and Arthur looks down at the dark wood of the lid, holding Merlin's shoulder so hard it hurts. He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out, dropping it onto the lid. It lands with a thunk and Arthur turns away, making Merlin turn, too.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Leon's necklace.”

“Why didn't you put it in the coffin?”

“ _Mer_ lin. It's a locket. With Avi's picture in it. Holly would have wanted to know.”

“Why can't she know about Avi?”

“Leon never told Holly that he had a boyfriend. No one knew Leon was gay. I wanted to respect that.”

“Did Avi come?”

“Yeah. He left before I finished speaking and didn't arrive until Holly had got started.”

“Will you go see him?”

“I will.”

“How tired are you, a ghrá?”

Arthur smiles and nudges him.

“Been a while since you spoke Gaelic to me, dinny,”

“You know that doesn't mean deranged, whatever ubran dictionary tells you? It's just a name. And how lovely, I call you my love so you call me deranged. Or you forget my name's Merlin, not Dinny. Either way, bugger off. Answer the question.”

“I thought you were gonna be nice forever, that would have been wearing. I'm about as tired as a tired, pathetic little creature that's so tired it's just gone and curled up in a corner and cannot move or speak no more. But luckily I'm not a pathetic creature, I'm a big strong man.”

“You are knackered, eejit. All right, here's what we'll do; we'll show your face at the wake, see Avi and then I'm taking you home. Before you collapse.”

Arthur doesn't complain. He scoffs and shakes his head, but he doesn't actually say no. So they make their slow way out of the grave yard and to the car. Arthur sits against the door, head on the window, eyes wide, head nodding. He won't let himself properly grieve until he's done his duty, so Merlin's anxious to get that duty over with. He rushes them through the wake, only letting Arthur stay for one song and make one toast. With apple juice. Then they're on their way to Avi's flat.

“Mer?”

“Yeah, what's it?”

“You're going to the wrong way.”

“I'm not.”

“He's at Leon's, dinny.”

Merlin turns the car around and makes for the other end of town, squeezing Arthur's shoulder. This'll make it harder; Leon's flat's too familiar for it to be comfortable now. Merlin pulls up fifteen minutes later and stops, not getting out. Arthur's not moving either, staring blankly out of the windshield.

“Arthur, you don't have to do this.”

“I do.”

“No you don't, he was Leon's lover, not one of your men.”

“I owe it to Leon.”

“You can barely sit up, let alone stand or walk. You're in pain, you're exhausted, and what about your grief?”

“Póg me thóin.”

“Ha! That wasn't bad, actually.”

“It's all I remember.”

“All me and Will ever used was the swearing. Me Mam used the endearments. Da spoke it properly, but I never really knew him. Can you swear in Arabic, now, too?”

“Elif air ab tizak. When I was first learning one of the soldiers thought it'd be funny to tell me that meant 'can I have some water'.”

“What does it really mean?”

“Well, I learnt that after asking their commanding officer for water. Proud as punch. Punch being the operative word. He near enough knocked me out, then brought his men in and gave them such a tongue lashing. It means 'may there be a thousand dicks up your ass'. Suppose you'd rather enjoy that, though.”

“Maybe not a _thousand_...”

Arthur laughs tiredly and pops open the door, heaving himself out and clutching the roof, cursing. In Arabic. Merlin gets his crutches and steadies him, easing them under his arms.

“Your multi-lingual talents astound me.”

“Ta. Sorry, that was kind of rude.”

“What did you call me this time?”

“You don't want to know. It doesn't really translate. It's kind of like calling someone a cunt, but without the over use.”

Merlin shuts the door and locks the car, lets Arthur set the pace. Hands in pockets he shuffles at Arthur's side, enjoying the sun on his face. This day is utterly craptastic, but the weather is great. Avi answers the door red eyed and snotty, letting them in with a helpless gesture and no words. Arthur goes to the kitchen and makes tea, sits Avi down and checks cupboards for food. Merlin leans on the side, waiting. Avi just looks into his tea and cries.

“Merlin, there's no food here. Can you go get something? I wish people knew. Families are great about making meals. Can you... can you do something?”

“I'll get some food and when we get home I'll do some cooking and we can drop it by tomorrow. You need to rest, a ghrá.”

“Twice in a day. Okay.”

Merlin slips out and walks round the corner to Tesco, picking up food that's easy to pick at and moderately healthy. He gets a sandwich and some crisps and ice cream, too. And he makes a note to check the cupboards for Jack Daniels. Best not to leave Avi with a house full of whisky. When he gets back Arthur's sat at the table and he and Avi are talking quietly. Merlin puts the food away and takes the bottle of whisky into the livingroom, picking up the trash crime novel Leon had on the side after slipping the bottle into his bag.

He reads for half an hour, keeping half an ear on the kitchen and Avi's subdued sniffs and stifled sobs. Avi's always been dramatic, but there's genuine heart break in his drama this time. He'd been honestly fond of Leon. Merlin's never been sure how far that went in Leon's direction. He knows that Leon had liked Avi, but he'd never been sure he was in love. But Arthur put the locket in the grave. Maybe for Avi. He checks his watch and, noting the time, goes to fetch Arthur.

“Arthur, we need to go.”

“Hang on, Merlin.”

“Sorry Avi, we still have a few things to do today.”

“No, you go Arthur. It's fine. I'll be okay.”

“You shouldn't be alone. I don't like leaving you here.”

“It's all right.”

“Are you sure you won't come back? Or at least go to yours? You might get...”

“I'll be fine. I might call a friend.”

“Please do. I know you just want to wallow right now, but it would be good to have someone keep an eye on you. So I don't worry.”

“I'll call her. She's my fag hag.”

“All right. Give her a call. You don't have to talk to her, I know you don't really want to talk about him.”

“I'll call her. Are you coming back tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Merlin's going to cook you some stuff, okay?”

“Okay.”

Arthur squeezes Avi's shoulder and heaves himself up, eyes wincing shut in pain. He waves Merlin away when he starts, though, and hobbles out on his own. By the time they finally make it home Merlin has to half carry him into the house. They've got a bungalow on an army base so no one bats an eye and the fridge is stocked thanks to their neighbours, who didn't know Leon. Merlin decides to be nicer about Avi needing help as he settles Arthur on the bed. Arthur's teeth are clenched, but little grunts of pain still slide out.

“Hang on, I know. Will you kill me if I give you the morphine? I know you hate it, but you're in a lot of pain.”

Arthur says nothing, ignoring Merlin if he even heard, control forgotten. He yells in pain and tears squeeze out, his fists go white on the sheet. Merlin gets the needle kit, fingers fumbling Arthur's uniform belt and dress uniform buttons. He finally finds a hip and draws a vile, carefully checking for air bubbles.

“All right, Arthur. Just a few more minutes. A little prick... there you go.”

Arthur cries out again, curling away. Merlin has no idea how Arthur held it together, but after dozing in the car and being lugged inside it seems he's done for the day. Merlin sits at his hip, idly rubbing the skin where the needle pricked. When Arthur relaxes a little Merlin starts working on the rest of Arthur's uniform, unbuttoning and tugging. He waits until Arthur goes boneless to get the clothes and shoes properly off, then props Arthur on his side with a blanket over him while he detaches the medals and returns them to their boxes, open and lined up from this morning.

“Mer?”

“Yeah, I'm here.”

“Kay. Don' leave?”

“Nope, wouldn't think of it. You'll need to eat, so I might venture to the kitchen later.”

“...leaving?”

“No, sorry. No. I'll get food later.”

“Food. No, not hungry.”

“Okay. That's fine for now. Just rest a bit, okay? I'm going to check my emails. I'm expecting a thing from work.”

“Work?”

“Shh, don't worry.”

Merlin crouches down and brushes the hair off Arthur's damp forehead, smiling at the half lidded eyes and dopey look. Arthur's pressed into the pillow, which will get covered in drool as soon as Arthur drifts off. Which should be happening.

“Shh, shh, I'm here,” Arthur's eyes slide shut as Merlin massages his scalp, fingers working sure-ly through his hair, “I'm right here,” Arthur's eyes close.


	6. Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has depression, Merlin gets a call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References this: http://www.robot-hugs.com/?attachment_id=771
> 
> and this: http://boggletheowl.tumblr.com/post/61998776279

Merlin wakes up to the buzzing of his phone. He's pretty sure it's been buzzing for a while, he's been dreaming about bees. He groans and wakes himself up a bit, rubbing his face, before checking his phone. He has about ten missed calls from Arthur. He calls back with a sigh.

“Hmmph.”

-Merlin?-

“Yeah, it's like two am. What's up?”

-Oh, you know-

“You been crying? What's wrong?”

-Nothing.-

“Are you on the internet again?”

-Maybe. The owl's so cute.-

“Right.”

-Merlin?-

Merlin sighs, getting up and pulling on his sweats ballancing the phone between chin and shoulder.

“Yeah?”

He pulls on his shirt and looks around for socks, waiting for the inevitable.

-Will you... can you... can you come and be my little mouse?-

“Already on my way.”

-Thank you.-

“You want me to stay on?”

-No.-

“Don't be too hard on yourself, okay? Just remember that however much you hate yourself right now, I still love you. Don't be too mean to the person I love.”

-I'll try.-

“Thanks.”

Merlin waits for Arthur to hang up then tugs on his shoes and socks and grabs his jacket and keys. It's only a five minute walk to Arthur's but he doesn't rush. It's best to give Arthur a little bit of space. When he arrives Arthur's waiting just inside the door and lets him in. The laptop's set up in the livingroom, throwing a weird light over a mess of blankets and discarded take away containers.

“Sorry.”

“Bad day?”

“Yeah.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“No.”

“Okay. Can I join you in your blanket nest?”

Arthur, already ensconced, shrugs and sighs but makes space. As soon as Merlin sits Arthur burries his face in his shoulder and tries to occupy the same inches Merlin's occupying. Merlin leans forward to flick through tabs and find whatever Arthur's watching these days, presses play when he finds a Midsomer Murders episode and sits back, putting his feet up.

He holds on to Arthur especially tight, just like always.


	7. Depression part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of chapter five.

Merlin groans and shuts off his alarm before staggering to the shower. Arthur’s already there, which is unusual, under the water, wet, lovely. They’ve been dating long enough now that Merlin just strips off and joins him, mumbling a sleepy good morning. They don’t even have shower sex, which is disappointing but not unusual. They dry off together, then Merlin tugs on his pyjama bottoms and goes to make coffee and toast while Arthur does whatever it is Arthur does.

When Merlin’s eaten his toast and had three cups of coffee and is feeling more alive, he realises Arthur still hasn’t emerged from his bedroom. Merlin puts his dishes in the sink and brushes crumbs off himself before pushing open the bedroom door. Arthur’s sprawled out face down over his towel on the bed, still completely naked. 

“You alright?” Merlin asks, lightly. 

Arthur grunts. 

“Because you look slightly dead,” Merlin says, still light. 

Arthur grunts again.

“Bad night last night?” Merlin asks, gentler, sitting beside Arthur and rubbing his damp, warm back. 

“I couldn’t fucking sleep. Fell asleep at four thirty, then woke up at six thirty.”

“Ah, that’s how you beat me to the shower. Are you up for getting dressed? I can make you breakfast if you like, something nice?”

“No. Bloody Sertraline makes me nauseous in the morning. I don’t like this one.”

“Let it settle a bit, see if it even out. You didn’t like the Mirtazapine to begin with, either, and that worked out great for four years.”

“It made me fat,” Arthur grumbles.

They hadn’t been dating yet, when Arthur was on Mirtazapine, it had been the uni years. And then Merlin hadn’t seen Arthur for three years and when he resurfaced, in a flat down the road, Arthur was on Citalopram and looked like a coat hanger he was so skinny. 

“The chub suited you,” Merlin says, truthfully. 

“I hate you.”

“So, clothes? My Mum’s waiting for us.”

“Don’t,” Arthur groans, shoulders tensing.

“Hey, I was kidding. You know very well that we can be as late as we like for her. She won’t mind.”

“I hate being late.”

“I know, but if you need a few minutes that’s fine.”

“Kay. Can I have pancakes?”

“Sure. It won’t help the nausea though.”

Arthur just flips him the bird, so Merlin goes to make him pancakes. He makes English ones and rolls three up around lemon and sugar, calling to Arthur that they’re done. Arthur doesn’t emerge. Merlin sighs and takes the plate through. Arthur’s sat against the headboard in a pair of ratty sweats and nothing else, staring ruefully at the pile of clothes on the floor, a mixture of clean and dirty laundry.

“I can’t find anything to wear,” Arthur says, face dark.

“What about the jeans you wore yesterday?”

“They have a hole in them, on the seam. It’s unseemly. Get it?”

Merlin snorts and sits on the bed, giving Arthur the plate. Arthur looks down at it, indescicion on his face.

“I need you to eat something,” Merin says, “it doesn’t have to be this, but I need you to eat. We’re not going through that again, remember?”

‘That’ being Arthur’s anorexia, which is apparently not a real side effect of the Citalopram but Merlin read on the label that ‘changed appetite’ and ‘under eating’ were. Arthur says it wasn’t anorexia, he just wasn’t hungry for a really long time. Arthur eats two of the pancakes then turns to lie curled on his side, pulling his Kindle to him and unlocking it.

“Are you going to read fanfiction and pretend the world doesn’t exist?” Merlin asks, getting started on the last of the pancakes.

“No,” Arthur says, defensively, which means that’s exactly what he’s going to do. 

“Okay. I’ll pack for us and then we can go on Post Secret, okay?”

Arthur grunts again, tugging the duvet over himself. Merlin has his stuff already packed, he just added extra to his over night bag, but he has to sort through Arthur’s clothes to find things he’ll be willing to wear when he’s in this kind of mood. Comfortable things that will cover him, something warm, soft fabrics. Nothing with holes in. Socks. It takes a while. By the time he’s done Arthur’s got his head under the duvet and is laughing softly. 

“What?” Merlin asks, climbing back onto the bed and nudging him, “what’s funny?”

“Inception fanfic,” Arthur says, emerging, “crack told from Dom’s point of view, it’s hilarious.”

“Is this the thing where you’re convinced Eames and Arthur are a couple?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No,” Merlin says, grinning, because he knows just how much Arthur grumbles when his one true pairing is slated, “I think they are two characters in a film that aren’t sleeping together or thinking of raising kids in the suburbs, and I know for a fact that, as many things as you read, men really cannot get pregnant.”

“They can on the internet. You promised me Post Secret,” Arthur reminds him, locking his Kindle and sitting up, but only so he can slouch into Merlin’s side. 

Merlin gets out the laptop and wakes it up, clicking on the favourite link for Post Secret. He’s hoping it will settle Arthur enough that he gets up, but he’s not going to say anything. It’s a very bad idea to say anything when it’s like this. Arthur watches listlessly as Merlin scrolls through. Usually Arthur has a commentary, but today he just watches, eyes closing hallway down the page.

“Seeing as the laptop’s on,” Arthur says, softly, the way his voice gets when he’s ashamed of himself, “can we watch something?”

“We’re not getting out of the house today, are we?” Merlin asks.

Arthur stiffens a little and gets out of bed, looking through his clothes again, tugging off his sweats. Merlin watches. Sometimes it just take a little nudge, it might still be okay, they might get out. Arthur gets his underwear and t-shirt on and Merlin holds his breath, but then Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face.

“I don’t think the trousers are gonna fit,” he says.

He sounds so helpless and miserable, so frustrated, that Merlin gives in. Today it’s not going to help to go out, he decides. 

“Come here,” Merlin says.

“I… there are some jeans, somewhere, I could wear those ones,” Arthur says.

“Come here,” Merlin says again.

Arthur comes. He curls up against Merlin’s chest and sighs. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Merlin says, “it’s fine. Long week?”

“No, not particularly. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to play footie with Gwaine, yesterday, then I might be fine.”

“Nah. You should have gone to play footie, you like playing footie. I know how it works, Arthur, I know that sometimes it’s just not there. It’s okay.”

“I always skive off with your Mum. Why don’t you go, without me? Send my apologies, but at least one of us will be there.”

“If you get to stay curled up in bed all day, I do too.”

“I could go, I could do it. I just… what about Tuesday? I have to be back at work, and I…”

“You haven’t been sleeping. I know.”

“Sorry. It’s so ridiculous.”

“It’s not. Well, yeah, it is a bit, but it’s okay. It’s one day, remember? You’re doing fine. Just remember to tell Mithian about it on Thursday, yeah? And when you go to the GP you need to let her know that you’re struggling on the Sertraline. And about the nausea.”

“Kay.”

“Do you want to watch something, or do you want to take a nap?”

“Watch something.”

“What are you on at the moment?”

“Nothing. I watched Scooby Doo yesterday, the film with SMG in it. It was like a weird, Buffy AU.”

“Huh? SMG? Buffy? AU?” Merlin asks, though he knows what it means. 

“Sarah Michelle Geller. AU is alternate universe. You know Buffy, I’ve made you watch it before.”

Merlin sniggers, rubbing Arthur’s scalp. Arthur hates it when Merlin acts like he has no idea what any of Arthur’s fandom stuff is. 

“Want to watch actual Scooby Doo? The old cartoons?”

“No,” Arthur yawns, “I think not.”

Arthur retrieves his Kindle and pulls up his Netflix app. Merlin fills the time while he scrolls through things by checking his emails and fucking about on Facebook. Arthur finally comes up with the IT crowd and Merlin gets it up on the laptop, waiting till Arthur’s breathing sounds easier and the tension has left him before wriggling out from under him.

“Where are you going?” Arthur asks. 

“Kitchen, to call Mum. Unless you want me to interrupt this?”

Arthur shrugs but lets Merlin go without further fuss. Merlin sits on the counter and shuts the door for some semblance of privacy before dialling. 

-Merlin! Hello love-

“Hi Mum.”

-Are you boys running late?-

“No. Well, in a way. I called to let you know that we’re not going to make it. Arthur’s not very well.”

-Oh, no. The poor thing. Is a stomach bug, or the flu? Anything I can do?-

“No, just general feeling of unwell. Nothing to do but sleep it off. He thought he’d be feeling up to it, but he’s really not.”

-Of course not. He doesn’t want to be traipsing across the country when he’s not well. You tell him to rest up and we’ll arrange something else. Maybe I’ll come up to town in a few weeks, hmm?-

“That’d be nice.”

-Okay, good. I’ll have a look at that and get back to you about arranagments. Now, go look after Arthur.-

“Yes, Mum. Love you.”

-I love you, too. Bye.-

Arthur’s moved on from the IT Crowd to Him&Her by the time Merlin gets back, and he’s restless again, playing a game on his Kindle at the same time, texting someone too.

“Who’re you texting?” Merlin asks, getting back into bed and letting Arthur curl up against him.

“Gwaine. About his baby. He sent me another photo, do you want to see?”

“I’m not really a baby person.”

“Neither is he. It’s hilarious. He’s damned lucky the poor girl is happy to be a mostly single parent and doesn’t hold it against Gwaine.”

“Yeah, he is. He’ll do the right thing, though.”

“Yeah. He’ll get used to it. He’s already better at holding her, and he even changed her nappy last time I was there, instead of making me do it.”

“It’s it weird that I find your prowess with small children kind of arousing?”

“When you put it like that, yes. Is your Mum mad?”

“Nah. I told her you were sick and she said she’ll come up to town soon instead. And told me to baby you.”

“You didn’t have to lie to her.”

“I didn’t. You’re not feeling well, are you?”

Arthur mumbles something about it not being real, but Merlin disregards that. 

“What are you playing?” He asks, instead. 

“Pet Rescue Saga. I have no lives left, though.”

“TV not gripping you?”

“Not much. Ugh, I hate this feeling.”

“I know. Do you want a Muller Rice? I bought them for a quid yesterday.”

“Each? A quid each?”

“No, for four.”

“Oh. Right. No, I don’t want to eat. Or read, or sleep, or watch TV or anything. Fuck.”

“How about I read Harry Potter to you? We can read the bit in the fourth one about the quidditch world cup.”

Arthur nods so Merlin gets the book out. Arthur used to have the audiobooks, but he gave them away when he realised Merlin was happy to be Stephen Fry’s stand in most of the time. Apparently Merlin’s voice is better than Stephen Fry’s, which is a lovely compliment. Arthur dozes off somewhere between the Weasley’s getting stuck in the fire place and the table war. Merlin sighs in relief and relaxes a little, restarting the IT Crowd from where he ducked out and settling in for an afternoon of trying to soothe Arthur.


End file.
